


Post Nubila Phoebus

by NyxNuit



Series: Luceat Lux Vestra [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst?, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, How Do I Tag, M/M, Rated For Violence, Sexual Content, Victor and Mila are chaotic besties, demon hunter AU, even MORE gratuitous music references because I can't stop, i guess?, is it still humor if everyone knows I'm not funny?, more domestic fluff than I intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNuit/pseuds/NyxNuit
Summary: "What's that phrase the Americans like to use?" Victor wondered, tapping his chin, "Biting on the backside?""Bite you in the ass," Yuuri corrected."Ah yes," Victor said, "Except it's less like that and more dragging me into a dark alleyway and shaking me down for my valuables."Victor's got enough on his plate as it is without his past rearing its head.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: Luceat Lux Vestra [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1303682
Comments: 68
Kudos: 112





	1. Villain, I Have Done Thy Mother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kutiekakes5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kutiekakes5/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww yiiis. Our favorite crew of demon hunting crackheads is _back_ y'all. 
> 
> In all seriousness, this is brought to you by my good friend Kiara who's been hounding me for a year now to sit my anxious ass down and write a 'proper' sequel. I don't know the exact length of this fic yet, since I have a really bad habit called 'winging it', but I'm hoping to keep it under ten chapters this time.

_October 2024; Monte Carlo_

It looked like the party had already started. Despite the chillier weather, there were people out on the terrace socializing. Victor glances at the (borrowed) overpriced watch on his wrist, “Fashionably late,” he comments, “Just like I like it.”

“You’re about to be fashionably dead if you don’t get your ass in here,” Mila grumbled over the comms, “Lenz got in about an hour ago.”

Yuuri sighs and puts his compact away, his glamour air-tight by now, “Guess that’s our cue.”

This party was supposed to be celebrating the new trade deal Lenz’s group had negotiated with a big-time mundane syndicate operating out of Brisbane. Apparently demonic minerals were quite lucrative, especially in the manufacture of dangerous new drugs.

Before they reached the door, Victor held out his arm for Yuuri to take, “Ready?”

“Not really,” Yuuri sighed, his hand coming to delicately rest in the crook of Victor’s elbow, “but let’s get it over with.” There’s a tightness around his eyes that Victor has learned to spot by now, but he refrains from asking.

_Now is not the time._

The music was almost deafening once they got inside, blasting from the large speakers set up by the DJ’s table in the far corner of the living room. Behind the DJ there was a full view of the terrace. Victor raises an eyebrow when he sees a few asinine partygoers jump into Lenz’s pristine infinity pool.

 _Talk about a recipe for frostbite_ , he thinks. Even Monte Carlo, with its white sandy beaches, is not entirely immune to the change of seasons. Now that it’s October, there’s a significant bite to the night air.

Victor spots Georgi behind the bar, dressed up as one of the household staff and mixing drinks for all of the subordinates and cronies that sidle up.

They find the crime boss lounging upstairs, laughing and drinking with a few people that Victor recognizes as his closer associates. A few of these men manage parts of the trafficking operation, while others run their own…distasteful businesses on the side.

“Alexei!” Lenz stands with his arms spread wide, “Glad you could make it!”

“Lenz,” Victor inclined his head, “Quite the party you’ve put together.”

“And who’s this lovely specimen?” Lenz flicks greedy eyes up and down Yuuri’s slender figure wrapped in a luxurious black fur coat.

“This is Hinata,” Victor said, “an old friend of mine.”

“I thought I knew all the lovely ladies in Monte Carlo,” Lenz said, kissing Yuuri’s knuckles. In his peripherals, Victor sees how his partner’s smile has become dangerously saccharine.

“Hinata has never been to Monte Carlo,” Victor said smoothly, “I thought I’d bring her along to see the sights.”

“By all means, stay as long as you like,” Lenz said before he straightened and refocused his attention on Victor, “If you don’t mind, I’d like a word?”

“Of course,” Victor nodded before turning to Yuuri, “Why don’t you enjoy the party, my dear? I’ll catch up to you later.” He finds Lenz watching Yuuri walk away same as him when he turns back to give the druglord his full undivided attention.

“You _must_ tell me where you manage to find all these gorgeous women, Alexei,” Lenz chuckled. 

“It has to be damp,” Victor quipped, earning a smattering of amused chortles and snickers.

“On to business,” Lenz said, picking up the box of cigars on the table and offering it to Victor before taking one out of the box and lighting it, “Now, _Alexei_ , I have just a few questions for you regarding the exact work you do.” the odd emphasis Lenz places on the false name doesn’t escape Victor’s notice, neither does the fact that Lenz hasn’t offered him a place to sit.

“Go on,” Victor said evenly.

“Does it always require you to wear a wire?” Lenz cocked his head, “Or is that just a fashion choice?”

Ah. So, they have been made then. Mila curses on her end of the comms and Victor smiles.

“You know, your jokes are in really poor taste,” Victor said, “Almost as bad as this playlist. I don’t know where you found this DJ, but this music is positively dreadful.”

“Victor,” Georgi warned in his ear, “he’s starting to block off the exits.” 

Lenz takes a hefty draft off of his cigar. Victor doesn’t doubt for a second the man is engaging him in conversation only to allow his cronies to get into position and prevent him from turning tail and running.

_Two on my left, three on my right._

“You know,” Lenz said, blowing foul smoke and Victor just barely refrains from wrinkling his nose in distaste, “I’m kind of insulted. You must’ve thought I was stupid enough to fall for you ruse.”

“Well, yes,” Victor admitted, “For at least a month you didn’t even realize your business partner had been replaced. I can’t blame you for being embarrassed.” Lenz’s smug smile turns into a snarl and palms the butt of his gun tucked into his side holster. There’s the click of multiple safeties but Victor keeps his eyes on the boss. Nobody fires just yet, all of them waiting for Lenz to give the word.

This wouldn’t be the first time Victor found himself surrounded by loaded guns. He’ll have to fight his way out, but as long as he avoids killing anybody they have to arrest and later interrogate, he should be fine.

“One of you do me a favor?” he says aloud, “Play me a song that I like.” The music abruptly stops.

“I got you fam,” Mila says into the comms.

“Ah, Milochka, you are a diamond.” He disarms the two gunmen within reach, kicks a third in the knee and punches the fourth in the face. The fifth aims and fires, but his shot goes wide, missing Victor by a hair and giving him ample time to get inside his guard and punch him straight in the throat. Victor blinks when he hears a harsh rattling wheeze.

“Oh dear,” he murmurs, looking at the prostrate man on the floor, “I wasn’t supposed to kill anyone.” Well, it _was_ self-defense...

“So that’s what you actually look like,” Lenz muses, his gun finally drawn, “Tell me, do I get to know the name of the agent who infiltrated my esteemed organization?”

Victor realizes that he’d accidentally dropped his glamour while fighting and now his real face and features are entirely visible. Victor’s gaze flicks between the gun and Lenz’s triumphant expression, then he smiles.

_…Video killed the radio star, video killed the radio star…_

“Victor Nikiforov, a pleasure to officially meet you.”

He can’t remember when he stopped taking pride in his name and the visceral deeply-embedded fear that it brings with it, but for the first time it what seems like decades he’s _pleased_ to see all the color and triumph melt from the boss’s face. In the background, there’s the sound of glass breaking and a few of the partygoers scream.

_…We near the playback and it seems so long ago…_

“Oh, come on,” Victor cajoles, “where did all your fighting spirit from earlier go? You were so eager just now.”

The crime boss flinches when Victor moves to disarm him, his finger squeezing the trigger and the gun stovepipes. Victor sighs and takes it from him, “Give me that. You’re a godsdamned travesty.” Lenz promptly faints leaving Victor to carefully un-jam the gun.

_…video killed the radio star…_

Victor sighs and conjures several pairs of Suppression cuffs, then starts the tedious work of making sure everyone’s hands are properly bound (even the gunman whose windpipe may or may not be crushed). He hears a shriek that makes him look up and over towards the railing that overlooks the main living area of the house and there’s a man in a tacky suit hanging there by familiar glowing thread.

Victor blinks and locks the last pair of Suppression cuffs into place, ignoring Lenz’s groans of protest as Victor bodily drags him over to a spot where he can’t crawl away.

“Stay put,” he says, then stands.

His eyes find Yuuri easily, watching his boyfriend and co-captain use his Stitch Wards as an effective weapon against the members of the trafficking ring resisting arrest. Glowing threads restrain and bind, picking up some people and keeping them suspended like puppets on strings.

Honestly, he didn’t think he’d be into the whole ‘crossdressing’ thing, but it appears that if Yuuri does it he’s all for it and that suits him just fine.

 _We really made the right choice going with a blue dress_ , he thinks. It complements the rich black of Yuuri’s hair and hugs those wonderful thighs.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs aloud, watching his incredibly talented boyfriend and co-captain kick the shit out of some mafia grunts while looking absolutely amazing. Victor quickly checks to make sure that he’s not drooling.

Yuuri directs an exasperated look in Victor’s direction, “Really?” Yuuri says into the comms. Victor waves cheerfully.

“Just enjoying the view,” Victor replied.

Those that remain quickly realize they’re outmatched and surrender. Victor descends down to the main floor to help get everyone corralled and into cuffs, bodily dragging the boss by the back of his suit jacket the whole way down.

“Oh, shut up,” Victor rolls his eyes when Lenz lets out another pained groan, “these are carpeted stairs. You’ll be fine.”

Georgi corralled all the party crashers and bystanders onto the terrace – because unfortunately they can’t let anyone go until they’re all questioned. What matters is that the people that need to be in cuffs are all in cuffs.

“Tell me again why the OSC couldn’t handle this themselves?” Mila asked, planting her hands on her hips.

“Something about a staffing problem,” Victor squinted, then shrugged.

“Their recruiting efforts have been going terribly in recent years,” Yuuri elaborated, “and majority of their experienced staff just retired so they didn’t have anyone prepared for deep cover. Also, they needed our help investigating the source of the raw materials.”

“Oh yeah,” Victor hummed, “Well, there you have it, Milochka.”

“Thanks, O esteemed commander,” Mila said flatly.

Victor is reminded that while an arrest has been made, their work isn’t done. They’ll leave the OSC to finish weeding out the dregs of Lenz’s organization and stop the shipment. With the intel Victor has carefully gathered, it shouldn’t be too hard for them to do, even with their staffing problem. He wants his team to rest up after this exhausting operation before they move on to the much more difficult part of this whole debacle.

After the team help get the detainees booked and processed, Victor and Yuuri happily collapse on the couch once safely back in St. Petersburg. The apartment feels strangely empty without Makkachin there to greet them and Victor is definitely looking forward to picking him up from the sitter’s tomorrow.

“You kinda smell,” Yuuri said, but didn’t move his head from where it rested on Victor’s shoulder.

“I know,” Victor sighed. He can smell the cigar smoke clinging to his clothes and he’s a little bit annoyed that he’ll have to take this suit to the dry cleaners…again. Just another thing on the to-do list tomorrow before he goes into the office to work on his report. “I need a shower,” he says after they sit there in companionable silence for a good five minutes, his fingers absently tangling with Yuuri’s, “Care to join me? I’ll wash your hair.”

“Mm, that sounds nice,” Yuuri says tiredly.

Victor helps him get unzipped and Yuuri unravels Victor’s tie. The suit gets set aside for the dry cleaners and Yuuri’s dress goes into the laundry basket.

“Next time, _you_ can wear the dress,” Yuuri said.

“With pleasure, my love,” Victor said happily, then tuts in sympathy when he sees Yuuri’s angry feet. There are identical cuts on the back of the heels where the shoes mercilessly cut into the skin, and several places that have been rubbed raw. He makes a note to treat those before they get too nasty.

The hot water feels amazing after such a long night and the smell of Yuuri’s mildly scented shampoo is a welcome change after sitting in his smoke-stained clothes for six hours. Victor is happy to indulge his boyfriend, taking his time massaging the suds into Yuuri’s scalp before nudging him underneath the spray to rinse.

“Here, I’ll get your back,” Yuuri says, taking the loofah.

They rinse and get out before they can become overheated, the two of them lazily drying off. Victor fishes out a little tin of leftover salve from underneath the bathroom sink while Yuuri pads out of the bathroom to go put on his pajamas, and by the time he emerges Yuuri’s already laid out on what’s become his side of the bed, halfway to sleep. Victor takes a seat on the bed, pulling Yuuri’s feet into his lap.

“Mm?” Yuuri stirs, his unfocused eyes settling on Victor.

“Just some medicine,” Victor explains, opening the tin and carefully applying the ointment to the places where the skin was rubbed raw. The smell of aloe and calendula is mild and soothing enough that Victor won’t mind if it gets into the sheets. Still, he conjures a pair of thick socks and carefully works them onto Yuuri’s feet before giving the now-fuzzy toes a little kiss. “There, all better now.”

“Silly,” Yuuri mumbles, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Victor said, setting the tin on the nightstand before cuddling up close and falling asleep.

The next morning, Victor feels refreshed and throws together a quick breakfast after calling the sitter to let her know he’ll be by to pick up his poodle.

“Yuuuuriiii!” he pokes his head into the bedroom where his boyfriend/field partner/co-captain is still sprawled in bed, the covers pulled over his eyes to block out the late morning sunshine, “Wakey wakey sleepy head, we have lots to do today.”

“Ughhh,” Yuuri groans unintelligibly from underneath the duvet.

“I made coffee,” Victor cajoles and Yuuri emerges from his cocoon squinty-eyed and grouchy. He hands Yuuri a plate of scrambled eggs, fried ham, and toast when his boyfriend shuffles into the kitchen, still wearing the fuzzy rainbow socks from last night.

“ _Ohayou_ ,” Yuuri grumbles, taking the plate in one hand and his designated mug – full of liquid caffeine – in the other.

“Eat up, you need the energy,” Victor said, pressing a quick kiss to Yuuri’s cheek, “I’m off to pick up Makka.”

“’Kay,” Yuuri mumbles, shuffling to the table, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Victor drops off his suit at the dry cleaners on his way to the sitter’s, carefully tucking the ticket in his wallet. His dog nearly bowls him over when he gets to Ana’s, cooing apologies and endearments while affixing the harness.

“Were you a good boy for Ana?” Victor asked, rubbing Makkachin’s velvety ears. His chocolate fur is floofed, recently cleaned. “Aw, you bathed him. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Ana said, “I thought a little spa day would cheer him up. He missed his papa.”

“You’re a gem, Ana,” Victor said, “I don’t deserve you.”

He Venmo’s her another two days’ worth of pay (he doesn’t care if she kicks up a fuss, she deserves it for taking such good care of his best friend) before taking Makkachin on the scenic route home.

Back at the apartment, Victor’s not surprised to see Yuuri is still in the process of waking up and Makkachin is happy to tackle him as soon as the leash comes off, butting his head into Yuuri’s lap for scratches and rubs.

“There’s our favorite boy,” Yuuri coos in affectionate Russian, setting down what’s most likely his second cup of coffee so he can indulge the poodle while Victor toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his layers. “You smell like peaches. Did Ana give you a bath?”

Victor gestures at Yuuri’s empty plate and it carries itself to the sink.

“I think she’s been giving him some treats,” Victor told him.

“Of course she has, nobody can resist this face,” Yuuri said, ruffling the curls on Makkachin’s muzzle and the poodle makes happy chuff noises.

They spend another hour giving Makkachin attention and apologizing for being gone before they head to the office.

“Well, well,” Mila said dryly from her desk, “Look who decided to grace us with their presence after all.”

“Good morning to you too, Milochka,” Victor chirped, “A job well done last night, Team. Very well done.”

Eyerolls. Eyerolls all around.

“Just sit down and finish your report so the OSC can stop climbing up my ass,” Mila said, “I swear to god, if I get _one_ more email asking me where the documentation is, it’s _your_ head I’m kicking in first.”

Victor held his hands up in surrender then saw himself to his desk. He deflates when he realizes the report has to be about more than just last night’s ambush, he has to talk about the _entire_ operation. His undercover stint has to be recorded in detail, down to every single meeting he had with Lenz.

 _Become an Exorcist_ , they said. _It’ll be fun_ , they said.

Nobody ever mentions the paperwork. How _everything_ must be appropriately documented at the risk of the entire team being audited and brought before the Inquisitor.

 _Urgh_.

He’s been sitting here for what feels like hours, wishing he could just lay out all the events as they happened and tell it like it is, but he’s been scolded before for his ‘inappropriate language’ and ‘lack of concise detail’.

The keyboard makes a discordant ‘clack’ when he smashes his forehead into the keys. He shouldn’t be wishing for another case when they’ve been so godsdamned busy as it is, but he hates just _sitting_ here and pushing buttons.

“Here.” he looks up.

“Ah, Yuuri, love of my life,” he takes the offered cup, “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Yuuri chuckles. He sips at his coffee while Yuuri takes a seat at his desk directly adjacent to Victor’s. Over Yuuri’s shoulder, he can see Mila playing Galactica instead of typing up that incident report that was most definitely due last week. But who is he to judge? If he could get away with it, he’d totally be doing the same thing.

Georgi is at his desk being more productive than Mila and Victor put together. Since he’s on the payroll as both a HUNTER field agent and a coroner he has to do both incident reports and medical charting. Victor blows his bangs out of his face and looks tiredly at his screen. And to think, Yakov wants him to become Assistant Director and do this shit _all the time_. Hard pass. It’s bad enough being a fucking Unit Captain.

He looks at the time and scrubs a hand over his face. _Just this last paragraph_ , he tells himself, _this last one and I can pop out for a breather._

The coffee Yuuri brought him is slowly going stagnant, so Victor takes small sips in between typing a sentence or two. The moment he hits ‘Submit’ feels like an achievement on par to the first time he made an improbable kill shot.

“I’m going to pop home and check on Makka,” he says, standing up from his desk, “I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” Yuuri replied, “Tell him I said ‘hi’.” Gods, Victor loves him.

It’s bitterly cold outside and the streetlamps are starting to flicker on as the sun sinks precariously low. The last few streaks of dark orange and bloody pink disappear while he and Makkachin take a leisurely stroll across the Neva, and even stop at one of the food carts for a treat. He fondly watched Makkachin sniff and investigate every pole and obscure spot until _finally_ he decided to go. Victor glanced heavenward – partly to give his dog some privacy, and partly to see if they were going to get more snow. He adjusted his scarf to make it harder for the biting cold to sneak through any gaps in his protective layers and wonders why he didn’t ask Yuuri to Ward _all_ of his winter clothing against the cold…

Then remembers he made a statement about his pride as a native-born Russian.

 _Stupid_ , he rolls his eyes at himself and looks down at Makkachin who’s kicking slush back over where he’s done his business.

“Come along, Makka,” he sighs, “let’s go home.”

It starts to snow again just as they reach their street and it’s cold enough to stick.

When they get back to the apartment, he stops just before his key can touch the lock and sniffs. The smell is elusive, lingering just on the edge of his olfactory senses. He doesn’t have a werewolf’s nose, or even Mila’s sense of smell but he _knows_ that scent. He could pick it out of a lineup if he had to.

It’s a miracle that his hand doesn’t shake when he puts the key in the lock and lets himself inside. He quietly detaches his dog from the lead, taking care to keep his hand firmly on Makka’s collar to keep him from tackling the intruder and – out of habit – toes off his shoes before stepping out of the entryway.

“Mama,” his mouth forms the syllables but hardly any sound comes out. Somehow, she’s shorter than he remembers, and her long silver hair has a streak of white that wasn’t there before. But, her smell of gun oil and lemon wood polish is still the same as ever.

“Quite a life you’ve made for yourself here,” she says, continuing to look through all the photos of himself, Yuuri, and their Unit that have made their way into kitschy frames. “Cute,” she taps one that happens to be one of Victor’s favorites – a candid photo that Mila had snapped at last year’s Christmas party where Yuuri had been laughing at a story Victor was in the process of telling. (Yuuri had been so embarrassed by it, “I look ridiculous in that hat.”

To which Victor had replied, “I think you make a very sexy Santa.”

Not his finest pick-up line, but Yuuri loves him anyway thank the gods.)

“It’s been a long time, Vit’ka,” she says. He nods.

“You got older,” he tells her, and her smile widens.

“So did you.”

“Would you like some tea?” he asked.

He should be getting back to the office. He’d told Yuuri he wouldn’t be long, but…

He’s missed her. Surely, Yuuri will understand.

Victor can just make out the slightest laugh lines around her mouth that he’s not sure were there before, but the curve of her smile and the crinkle of her eyes are as familiar to him as his own face, even after all these years.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit, Vit’ka,” his mother says sadly, and an odd cold feeling settles heavily in the pit of his stomach.

“I’ll make tea anyway,” he says, forcing cheer into his voice, shedding his coat and it bobs off to hang itself on the coat rack by the door. He fills the kettle, gives it a tap, and it’s not long before the spout is hissing steam. Two mugs pull themselves down from the shelf and set themselves on the countertop while he rummages for the tea box and the jam. Behind him, he can hear his mother cooing greetings at Makkachin who’s indulging in the attention.

“You’ve always wanted a dog,” she says when she sits at the table. Victor sets a mug down in front of her and takes a seat with his.

“Makkachin was a rescue,” he replied, “but these days I have a hard time distinguishing who saved who.” he’s not surprised that the poodle has followed them to the table, inching closer and closer until he’s close enough to put his large brown head in their guest’s lap to capitalize on her affection, begging for more rubs with big chocolatey eyes.

“He’s lovely,” she smiled, giving him scratches on his muzzle. Her smile slowly fades, sadness crowding out the happiness on her face, “Vit’ka…I’m…I wish…” she takes a shaky breath, “I’m glad you’re happy now,” she finally said, “You…I don’t think you were happy for a very long time.”

“I don’t blame you for any of it,” he told her, “at least…not anymore.” He didn’t think he’d get to tell her that after what happened during their last visit. He knows now that she’s tried to protect him as much as she could, but in the end, he made his own choices.

She takes a long quiet sip of her tea before she says, “Your uncle would like to see you.”

There it is.

“Would he now?”

He should’ve known that she wouldn’t come here on a whim to mend her relationship with her estranged son. He was an Exorcist now, operating on the opposite side of the law and able to arrest her for over fifty years’ worth of charges. She sighs, folding her hands around her mug, “Please Vit’ka, don’t make this difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, I’m being _rational_ ,” Victor argued, “I get anywhere near that mansion, I have to arrest him for all the things he’s done.”

“He’ll resort to other measures if you don’t come quietly,” his mother said, “He’s been watching you for a long time now.”

Which means Uncle Vasily knows that Victor’s got pesky little things like _morals_ now, which means _weaknesses_.

He thinks of Yuuri. 

“I’m not afraid of Uncle Vasily,” Victor said, his grip tightening on his mug and his palms itching. He’s been killing demons for the past twenty years; he’s long grown past the days where he’d be punished with extra homework if he failed a test or trial. The severe look on his mother’s face betrays the slightest bit of fear in her eyes.

“Then you haven’t grown up at all,” she snapped, “Did I not teach you that magic does not equate to power?”

“You sound like Lilia,” he scoffs, picking up his mug to take a sip and realizing its frozen solid, his magic having sapped the heat from the tea.

“Always so stubborn,” she tsk’ed, the sound coming off fond instead of scolding, “Is there nothing I can say to convince you?”

“No,” Victor said, “We both know you can’t guarantee a thing when it comes to Uncle Vasily.” The man had been head of the family for _years_. That didn’t come without a certain ruthlessness. Of all the adjectives that come to mind when he thinks of his uncle, ‘kind’ is not one of them. He’d taken Victor under his wing the moment Victor had manifested late at the age of nine and turned him into a killing machine.

Yvette Nikiforov sighs heavily, “I should’ve known. You get it from me after all.”

He chews on his tongue for a minute. He wants to ask, but…he left them behind. His stepfather, the twins, and his little sister who probably looks older than him by now. She was only two when he left, she probably doesn’t remember him. Little Vanya who used to toddle around in her diaper is mostly likely married with children of her own.

“I don’t want us to fall out of touch again, Vit’ka,” his mother reaches over to grasp his hands, “your father and I…all we want is for you to be happy.”

“I…” _know_ , he almost says. But does he? He’d always thought they wanted him to keep with tradition and make the family proud, so he had done what his uncle had expected of him until he realized that he was so achingly empty…

“I’ll need to get back before it gets too late,” Mama sighs, glancing at her watch, “Promise me you’ll stop by for dinner once in a while? Please don’t be a stranger anymore.”

“I’ll try,” he promised.

He sees her to the door, then makes himself a fresh cup of tea while the other two cups set to washing themselves in the sink. Makkachin sets his head on Victor’s knee, tail thumping against the floor and Victor slowly strokes his fingers through the poodle’s rich brown fur.

“Makka, I don’t know what to do,” he whispers.

The thought of seeing his uncle again makes his guts fill with lead. He’d left that mansion and all the heavy expectations in it behind so he could taste freedom and maybe find some happiness.

“If I don’t go, he’ll hurt Yuuri,” Victor says to Makkachin, swallowing hard, “If I do, I could lose everything.”

It isn’t until Yuuri comes through a Portal calling out for him until he realizes that he’s lost track of time whilst trying to think of a way to both appease his uncle, keep Yuuri safe, and prevent jeopardizing the fragile future he’s started to carve for himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I know I said I’d be back but…”

“What am I going to do with you?” Yuuri sighs, the relief in his voice filling Victor with guilt. He knows Yuuri’s been extra anxious since the whole deal with Lenz. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” the lamp clicks on and Yuuri frowns, “Victor? What’s wrong?”

 _Communicate like a fucking adult_ , the Mila Voice in his head snaps.

“Mama came to visit,” Victor says. Yuuri looks a bit bewildered, lips parted in surprise before his expression smooths into understanding when Victor struggles to find his words.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says, “You can tell me about it when you’re ready.”

Gods, sometimes he wonders what he did in a past life to deserve him, knowing in this life he’s done absolutely nothing to justify keeping someone this wonderful all to himself.

“I love you,” Victor tells him, his lip inexplicably wobbly. Dammit, he doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t even know why he's crying.

He lays his head in Yuuri’s lap for a little while, closing his eyes. He can hear Yuuri typing out a message on his phone, probably texting Mila and telling her they’re taking the rest of the day off. They have things to do, prisoners to interview, and spooky stuff to investigate and yet all Victor wants to do is lay here and allow himself to wallow a little bit.

Next thing he knows, he’s being nudged awake and told that dinner’s ready.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Victor says apologetically. His face feels crusty and his eyes feel swollen – _was I crying in my sleep?_ He doesn’t remember what his dreams were about, and he’s glad that Yuuri doesn’t ask.

“It’s okay, Victor,” Yuuri replied, “Sometimes, a good cry and a nap is the best medicine.”

He doesn’t understand how he can still be so exhausted after the nap he just had, but he’s ready for bed after finishing dinner. The washing does itself – literally – and Victor scrubs his face, brushes his teeth, and climbs into bed stripped down to his boxers.

When Yuuri follows him some time later, he clings to him like a lifeline. Victor will never tire of how his skin tingles where their bare skin meets, warmth radiating up his arms and into his chest where Yuuri’s presence has become a near-permanent fixture.

“Victor, that tickles,” Yuuri sputters when Victor presses his nose into Yuuri’s hip to breathe in the smell of the matcha and cocoa he always makes in the evenings while he gets settled in for the night.

“Mmm,” Victor hums, closing his eyes.

 _I don’t want to lose this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about y'all, but it tickles my pickle when action scenes are set to cheery upbeat music. (e.g. That One Scene in The Umbrella Academy when Five straight-up murders hired mercenaries to 'Istanbul Not Constantinople' by They Might Be Giants). 
> 
> Stay hydrated, stay healthy, stay safe. Laters <3


	2. Hi, Welcome to Chilis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ki-chan  
>    
>  What's the fanciest lunch you can think of?  
>    
>  Uh....

_October 2024; Nikiforovskoye_

His hand meets cool smooth sheets and he blinks awake with a frown, wondering where Victor could’ve run off to –

This is not Victor’s bed. This is not Victor’s room.

“What. The actual. Fuck?”

It feels appropriate to swear in English as his brain finally catches up with him. He remembers carefully extricating himself from the bed so he could make a much-needed a store run. He remembers passing the bakery - 

And then…nothing.

This is a far cry from waking up in a dark sketchy room, tied to a chair, and about to be interrogated by a member of Lenz’s organization seeking revenge or…something.

He draws a temporary Ward around his eyes – since he can’t find his glasses – and immediately makes eye contact with the startled maid who’d been cleaning out the fireplace. She blinks at him, undoubtedly bewildered after hearing his outburst.

“Um…” he says (y’know, like the Ph.D he is).

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” the maid says in English, awkwardly getting to her feet, “I did not mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replied slowly, even though it’s very much _not_ fine, “Um, where am I?”

This room looks like it was designed for royalty. The bed is a four-poster canopy, the parted curtains tied to each post with a length of braided gold cord. There’s an antique chaise lounge on the rug by the fireplace that he knows Victor would absolutely love to get his hands on, even if he’s got no room in his swanky modern apartment for it.

“Nikiforov Manor, sir,” the maid says, then curtsies, “If you’ll excuse me, sir. I’m sure lunch will be ready soon.”

She takes the bucket that she had been using to collect the ashes and leaves without a word. Yuuri stares at the door, more than a little bewildered because _what the fuck was going on?_

He doesn’t have much experience being kidnapped, but he’s pretty sure that when the void suddenly collapses in on you in the middle of walking down the street, you either: A. wake up in the afterlife, B. realize it’s one of those rare times that Ativan is required to pull yourself out of this one, or C. understand that you’ve been captured by unquestionably sketchy persons.

 _Oh, there are my glasses_ , he plucks them from the nightstand, dissolves the spell on his eyes and puts his glasses on. They’ve also left his keys (not wise, could be used as a weapon, even in a house potentially full of world-renowned assassins) and, to his even greater surprise, his phone. The lock screen comes on when he picks it up and sees the time.

 _Only an hour since I left the apartment_. Not quite enough time for Victor to wake up and realize that Yuuri has been gone for longer than he reasonably should be.

 _Victor_. He’d hoped to wake up his boyfriend with some breakfast in bed before they headed to the office, but now…

Slowly, he gets out of bed and does a quick assessment to make sure that he hasn’t been injured. He pads into the en suite bathroom to check himself in the mirror for bruising, cuts, scrapes, or any sign of trauma. Whatever Victor’s family want with him, then, it has nothing to do with causing him any harm.

He breathes a shaky sigh, heart suddenly in his throat.

They’ve given him means to call for help. His Unit – no – the entire Agency could come raining down on this place. It would be a historical raid and even more historical arrest. Lilia would give him a fucking knighthood for leading her to the Nikiforov lair.

It would be so easy.

 _Too_ easy.

They _want_ him to call Victor.

 _It’s a trap. And I’m the bait_.

The thought makes him a bit angry, that they thought they could just _use_ him to get to Victor. They couldn’t send an email or make a phone call like normal people, oh noo, they had to resort to kidnapping him like some third-rate Bond villain.

_Good. Anger is good. Better than panic. Stick with the anger._

He wonders if that was the reason Victor’s mother had paid an unexpected visit last night, to warn Victor that they were going to do something like this.

 _Hey, by the way, my infamously murderous family might try and use you to get to me. No biggie_.

Yuuri rubs his eyes, trying his best to breathe through the livid bubble in his chest. Gods, they need to have a serious talk.

A knock on the door startles him out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts, “Uh…y-yes?”

The door opens, revealing a haughty looking butler in a crisply pressed uniform, “Lunch is about to be served.” He doesn’t wait for Yuuri to respond, simply turning on his heel and padding away.

It’s a bit early for lunch, barely half-past eleven, but Yuuri’s stomach lets out a pitiful little gurgle at the thought of food. He follows the butler despite his lizard brain frantically waving red flags and screeching that he’s in the Nikiforov household and they could very well be trying to poison him.

Yuuri wonders if this is where Victor grew up – it would certainly explain some things, like his refusal to drink instant coffee and how he insists on buying jeans that are at least a hundred dollars a pair. The mansion’s décor is tastefully spartan, as far as Yuuri can see, and yet the place still screams ‘money’.

He’s led to a dining room just as opulent as the rest of the mansion with a table long enough to easily seat twelve or thirteen people and a glittering crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Behind the head of the table there’s a large fireplace with a handless clock mounted above the mantle.

“Please, sit.” the voice is rich, running down Yuuri’s spine like warm honey and for a moment he’s reminded of Victor, even though the man sitting at the head of the table looks absolutely nothing like him. He’s clean-shaven, salt and pepper hair sharply parted to the left, wearing a rich purple button-down.

Three places at the table have been set, with the master of the house taking up the high-backed chair at the head. Yuuri steels his spine and takes a seat at one of the other two places. The butler promptly materializes behind him and silently pushes in his chair.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Yuuri says.

The butler barely acknowledges him, keeping his eyes forward before he raises his gloved hands and claps sharply. A maid comes in, wheeling a cart of covered dishes that she places on the table.

“Today’s afternoon meal is steak au poivre served with fresh hericots verts in Dijon-shallot vinaigrette and a mixed quinoa salad,” the butler announces while the covers on the plates delicately lift themselves, “Please, enjoy.”

“Thank you, Zebulon,” the master of the house says. The butler bows and makes his exit with the cart. Yuuri glances at the table setting across from his, where a covered plate had been set. “I’m sure my nephew will be along shortly. In the meantime, we shouldn’t allow this fine meal to go cold. Please, eat.”

Even though he says ‘please’, Yuuri can’t help but feel like it was more than order than a request. He picks up his knife and fork, taking a careful bite and politely chewing even though his immediate reaction is to get more of the fantastic food in his mouth straight away.

 _Holy shit_ , he silently marvels.

The butler materializes with a bottle of red wine that probably costs more than Yuuri’s entire neighborhood, pouring them each a tasteful portion. For several minutes – though it feels like an eternity – the two of them eat in silence.

“It is curious,” the master of the house muses, sitting back in his chair with his glass of wine carefully balanced in his fingers, “you’re so underwhelming in person. My nephew certainly has peculiar taste.”

“I’m underwhelming in general,” Yuuri quipped, his mouth moving before his brain could put on the brakes, “sir.”

“Please, call me uncle.” The assassin waves off the formality like he’s swatting a fly, “After all, we’re family, are we not?”

A strange foreboding chill raises the little hairs on Yuuri’s arms at the cold look in those eyes despite how perfectly affable Mr. Nikiforov sounds, and it’s taking all of his training to keep cutting delicate bite-sized portions of meat and forking them into his mouth with all the carefully cultivated patience of a Hunter. His impromptu host neatly checks his watch, eyebrow twitching in the vaguest hint of disapproval.

“What was I saying? Ah, yes, my nephew’s peculiar taste,” he says, “I always thought he would aspire to find a partner of a similar caliber. And yet, here you are. A civilian informant turned disgraced Hunter. Educated at a _mundane_ university due to subpar magical prowess.”

Those eyes are so flat and inhuman, they remind Yuuri of a Gobu demon – deep green, calculating, and full of slow-acting venom. He wonders if they can spot just how fast his heart is beating. They certainly haven’t missed the white-knuckled grip he has on his silverware.

“If nothing else, you have a bright future ahead of you as a con artist,” Victor’s uncle says, delicately taking up his own knife and fork.

“Y-you think I _swindled_ Victor into dating me?” Yuuri’s surprised that his voice doesn’t shake. He feels his magic simmer in his veins, responding now to his anger in combination with his earlier emotional distress.

“Do you honestly think my nephew would keep you as a partner if he knew what happened to your last one?” Mr. Nikiforov counters easily, like they’re discussing the weather, “No. I should think not. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I know his standards haven’t dropped quite so low.”

What’s left of Yuuri’s appetite vanishes. His innards feel like a pit of angry snakes, and he tucks his hands into his lap. He presses his fingers into the hidden tattoo on his wrist, the enchanted ink drinking in magic as it tries to overpower the oncoming panic welling in his chest.

“Maybe he’s changed,” Yuuri finally said, “maybe he’s not who you raised him to be.”

“Despite having the power of words, Dr. Katsuki, I must comment on your lack of eloquence,” Mr. Nikiforov sighed, taking a moment to carefully fork another bite of skillfully prepared steak into his mouth, chewing and then swallowing before he continued, “People so rarely change, no matter what hat they wear. Victor is no exception. As much as he tries to surprise people, he really isn’t all that original. And I find most Exorcists these days sorely lack in imagination.” His gaze slides coolly over Yuuri sitting stock still in his seat, “Tell me, this then: if my nephew really has ‘changed’ then why aren’t more of us behind bars, hm? It would be in his best interest as an Exorcist to put us in jail, no? But, here we sit, having a marvelous lunch.”

Gods, this man really knows how to spot a person’s weaknesses while being so infuriatingly impregnable. It took Yuuri months to learn the nuances in Victor’s facial expressions – when his smile was sarcastic or fake, what each little crease between his eyebrows meant, when he was thinking about indecent things instead of focusing on the briefing…his uncle might as well be made of stone in comparison.

 _I only see what he wants me to see_ , he thinks.

 _Maybe…Maybe all this time, Victor has been the same_.

Overhead, the chandelier suddenly rattles, all that expensive crystal delicately clinking against each other. Mr. Nikiforov (Yuuri absolutely refuses to call him ‘uncle’) checks his watch, then clicks his tongue, “Twenty-two minutes late. Such bad manners.”

The chandelier rattles again and the wine in Yuuri’s glass wobbles. He chances a glance at his impromptu host and sees he looks thoroughly unimpressed.

Yuuri watches the dining room doors, heart in his throat while he waits.

 _You shouldn’t have come_ , he thinks, _this is exactly what he wants_.

It’s obvious Victor got dressed in a hurry – his jeans haven’t been fastened properly, hanging low on his hips, and his t-shirt is rumpled. The look on his face sends chills down Yuuri’s spine, like he was prepared to kill. A bit of warmth comes back in his expression when their eyes meet, and he strides over.

“Are you hurt?” Victor asked quietly, cupping Yuuri’s cheeks and turning his face, inspecting him for injuries.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri answered, “Really.”

Victor eyes the half-eaten food on Yuuri’s plate and his eyes narrow slightly before he straightens.

“Uncle,” Victor greets coolly, “A phone call would’ve sufficed.”

“You’ll have to change before you eat,” Mr. Nikiforov replied, just as cool, “Zebulon will escort you.”

Ever so attentive, the butler appears, waiting patiently.

“Yuuri and I have business to attend to, Uncle,” Victor declines. He’s so rigidly polite, and without an ounce of sarcasm, it’s unnerving and a fresh bead of fear wells in his stomach. “You’ll recall that I am an Exorcist now. We’re currently in the middle of an investigation.”

“Ah,” his uncle says dispassionately, “a raincheck then.”

“Yes,” Victor said, “I’ll be in touch. Soon.”

Zebulon pulls Yuuri’s chair back for him and offers him his shoes, “Um, thank you, Zebulon,” Yuuri says, even though the butler doesn’t seem to appreciate the thanks. Yuuri puts on his shoes and stands, sharply bowing to the master of the house. “Thank you for the meal. It was delicious.”

Mr. Nikiforov inclines his head slightly in reply before taking a sip of his wine. Yuuri can’t believe he’s letting them go just like that, and he has to physically stop himself from looking over his shoulder as Victor links their hands together and gently tugs him from the dining room, across the marble foyer and towards the front doors. He can tell Victor is tense, hearing the clip in his usual easy strides as they enter the courtyard. The evidence of Victor’s anger hangs over the house in the form of nebulous storm clouds and Yuuri swallows hard when he sees them.

A Portal is torn open before they can reach the dry fountain at the center of the wide driveway and they walk through, Makkachin greeting them on the other side with happy barks. Yuuri gives him the obligatory ‘hello’ scratches before standing to look at Victor who’s got the strangest expression on his face. Yuuri barely opens his mouth before he’s yanked into a hug.

“Victor,” he realizes, “you’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor murmurs, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry…”

“Victor, it’s fine. Everything’s fine,” Yuuri guides them down to sit on the carpeted floor before Victor’s weight can topple them both over. He takes Victor’s hands, guides one to his carotid and the other to his heart, “See? Still alive. I’m fine.”

“My uncle,” Victor swallowed, “I didn’t listen. I didn’t think he’d work so fast. I should’ve-“ he trails off into furious self-debilitating Russian and Yuuri feels like shit for doubting Victor, even for just a second.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t come,” Yuuri admitted and Victor stops dead in the middle of his verbal flagellation, the corners of his heart-shaped mouth downturned in horror. “When I woke up and found my phone, I knew they wanted me to call you like some damsel in distress. I knew I was the bait.”

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” Victor protested, “You have _no_ idea what my Uncle Vasily is capable of, Yuuri. That man has been head of the clan for over a century. If I hadn’t come, he would’ve hurt you to make a point, and I can’t…” Victor’s voice breaks. He presses his forehead to Yuuri’s chest, right above his heart, “I can’t lose you, Yuuri. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It almost sounds like a marriage proposal,” Yuuri half-laughs, “Are you trying to make me cry? Because it’s working.” 

Victor lets out a watery chuckle and just wraps his arms around Yuuri’s middle, giving him an anchoring squeeze before lifting his head. “Yuuri,” he murmurs, the sound like rich caramel, “I thought it was obvious how much I love you.”

“You _are_ trying to make me cry,” Yuuri accused, already feeling a traitorous tear roll down his cheek, “What the hell, Victor?” he scrubs at his face to hide the evidence. Victor chuckles again and presses a chaste kiss to the delicate pulse point beneath Yuuri’s jaw. He can feel the stubble on Victor’s chin, just a subtle scratch and now is really _not_ the time for those tell-tale tingles in the pit of his stomach. It’s good to know that he’s still attracted to Victor despite being whacked over the head with the reminder of where he comes from.

_I’m a boss-ass bitch bitch bitch bitch..._

“When are you going to change her ringtone?” Yuuri sighed.

“When a better one comes along,” Victor says cheerfully, “Duty calls, my love.”

Unfortunately, that means talking will have to wait.

They’ve barely touched the carpet on the other side of the Portal before they’re assaulted by desk supplies. Yuuri eyes the stapler that narrowly missed him by maybe a centimeter before looking at the irate vampire who’s grabbing things off of neighboring desks to launch in their direction.

“Oh, look who _finally_ decided to show up!” Mila crowed sweetly, lobbing a jar of paperclips at them. “I was just about to send a search party for you guys, y’know, since neither of you answered the fucking phone!”

“We’re really sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, “Honestly, if you give us a chance to explain- “he leans to avoid getting beaned with a hole-puncher.

“Godsdammit, stay still so I can hit you,” Mila grits.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, Milochka, my dear,” Victor said, studiously avoiding every item aimed in his direction, “As long as you keep aiming for the money-maker, I’m going to have to dodge.”

Yuuri dives out of the way as Mila picks up a printer – ignoring Georgi’s protests (“Mila, th-that’s going to come out of our salary – Mila!”) – and chucks it full force in their direction. He grimaces at the noise it makes when it lands and all of them instantly freeze, shooting wary glances at the Assistant Director’s door.

A beat passes. Then three. The door doesn’t open and Yakov doesn’t emerge to scream at them about having some decorum. All four of them release the breaths they’d unconsciously been holding.

“Can you _please_ stop throwing things?” Georgi begged, “Any more of this and I won’t have enough of my check left to make rent.”

Mila huffed and grudgingly set down Georgi’s stapler that was about to become a casualty. Yuuri sighs and surveys the mess that their office-space has become. The hole-puncher scattered paper bits during its impromptu flight, so the floor is peppered with them along with the paperclips and broken pad of post-its. The printer is a sad mass of fractured plastic and leaking toner.

“Was all of this necessary?” Yuuri asked, with a sigh, sweeping his hand over the scattered paperclips and they plop back into their plastic container. The broken block of post-it notes is valiantly trying to put itself back together but eventually Yuuri has to concede defeat and just put them on the desk as is. Victor makes short work of the splattered ink and the printer makes sad noises as it puts itself back together under the guidance of his magic.

“We’re in the middle of an investigation,” Mila says, “I can overlook you two needing a late morning every once in a while, but you skipped out early last night and then come in late?”

“Grocery shopping took a little longer than we anticipated,” Victor said, “So sorry about that.”

Well, it’s not entirely a lie. Never mind that Yuuri didn’t actually make it to the grocer. He can understand Victor’s reluctance to clue in their Unit members – if Vasily Nikiforov is planning on dragging Victor into a scheme of some sort, it’s best that Mila and Georgi have plausible deniability if shit hits the fan.

“You better be fucking sorry,” Mila said, “and grateful. I’ve been dealing with that absolute asshat Jaxon for the past hour.”

“What does he want now?” Victor sighed, flopping dramatically into his desk chair, “I forwarded him my report, as requested.”

“First he calls me freaking out that we weren’t at the arraignment,” Mila said, swiveling in her chair, “then he calls wanting to speak to Victor about the projected trial date. I told him he could just tell me and I’d pass on the message, but nooo,” she lowers her voice in an obvious mockery of Jaxon’s, “’This is Captain’s business.’”

“He’s not a Captain,” Victor interjected, “and you technically outrank him, but go on.”

“And then he calls me a _third time_ ,” Mila ranted, “and says he wants us there when Lenz is interviewed to ‘make up’ for not being at the arraignment.”

“We should be concentrating on tracking down Lenz’s partner,” Yuuri frowned, “Our top priority is to stop the use and harvest of those minerals. Nothing’s stopping the OSC from recording the interview for us to look at later.”

“Then I can tell him to get bent?” Mila asked, her face brightening. 

“Of course,” Victor says (a bit too eagerly).

“Er, provided you do it politely,” Yuuri added. Jaxon reminds him unpleasantly of the entitled rich guys he’d dealt with when he was dancing to pay for his books – the kind that are aware of their good looks and think they can get away with murder just because they were blessed with a decent jawline. But, they’re all on the same side and that alone warrants even a little bit of respect.

“Got it,” Mila nodded, “I’ll _politely_ tell him to get bent, and if that doesn’t work…” she makes a show of cracking her knuckles.

“Speaking of those minerals,” Georgi said, holding up a folder and handing it to Yuuri, “Analysis finally came back on that sample Victor was able to give us.”

He blinks as he takes the file and starts flipping through the data, “This…is a lot of pages,” he comments, flipping through, “All of this from running the analyzer?” he was told that that was all CSI would have the time for, since they’re constantly swamped with processing evidence from active cases all over the continent.

“Well,” Georgi’s voice takes on that familiar high-pitch Yuuri’s learned means Georgi has indulged in a rare bit of mischief, “I sort of…dropped your name to get those extra tests done that we’d talked about.”

“O-kay?” Yuuri said slowly, “Why would dropping my name be beneficial? I don’t have any pull in that department.”

His Unit members inexplicably exchange looks of fond exasperation before shaking their heads at each other.

‘Is he serious?’ Mila mouths at Victor and Georgi.

“My Yuuri,” Victor sighed, “so humble. So oblivious.”

“I’m serious, Victor,” Yuuri said, “I’m not a renowned researcher, I only ever wrote the one thesis and it wasn’t magic related.” nobody needs to know how it was even a miracle he got his Ph.D after how he thoroughly botched the oral defense of his dissertation.

His recent collaborative efforts with the IMC’s research and development division have only been going on for the past six months, and they’ve been undercut by the fact that his duties as an Exorcist come before the lab. No papers have been published yet, and their data collection has been moving at a snail’s pace as most biology projects do.

“I’m pretty sure the entire analyst department has had a crush on you since the sentient goo incident,” Mila said.

“That’s ridiculous,” Yuuri told her.

“With _that_ ass and _those_ brains?” Mila scoffed, “No it isn’t.”

Yuuri hides his face in the file, the smell of printer paper filling his nose as he lets out a low embarrassed groan. 

“All this time,” he muttered, “I thought people were laughing at me.” 

He’d stopped bringing Georgi coffee whenever he gets stuck in the Freezer overnight helping clear the backlog of autopsies because of all the staring and the giggling from the interns. Clearly, he’d thought, they were making jokes at his expense.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, hun,” Mila says loudly, “because _nobody_ caught that.”

Yuuri just groans again into the pages upon pages of chemical analysis, “I was sure they were laughing at me.”

“Are you kidding me? They _worship_ you,” Georgi said, “and they all know we’re on the same Unit, so it’s always ‘Dr. Katsuki this’ and ‘Agent Katsuki that’. ‘What was Dr. Katsuki wearing today?’” then to Yuuri’s utter mortification, Georgi sighs like a lovesick teenager and flutters his eyelashes dramatically.

“That-,” Yuuri sputtered, “you – now you’re just making fun of me!”

“Oh honey,” Mila sighed.

“I tried to tell you,” Victor says while Yuuri continues to have a meltdown because _Phichit can never know about this._ _I’ll never hear the end of it_.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was this bad,” Mila complained. The phone on her desk rings and she leans over to check the number on the caller ID.

“Is it Jackass again?” Victor asked, “I would be delighted to have the honor of telling him to get bent.”

“Politely,” Yuuri reminds him. Victor just smiles.

“It’s the main desk,” Mila said, before plucking the receiver off the cradle and holding it to her ear, “Babicheva.” The call lasts for less than a minute before she’s hanging up and announcing, “Her Royal Bitchiness wants to see us.”

“Victor,” Georgi says, “what did you do this time?”

“Hm, I dunno,” Victor muses, tapping his mouth, “Guess we’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised this chapter literally so many times I even considered setting it back and doing something else, but my outline wouldn't let me. 
> 
> I know replying to comments is rare for me (both because I'm socially awkward and I dislike how my replies artificially inflate the comment numbers) but just know I do read them and I purple each and every one of you. Stay healthy, stay hydrated, and stay safe. <3


	3. One Black Coffee, Same Motherfucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual content at the end. It's all Kiara's fault.

_October 2024; European Branch Headquarters – Geneva_

It’s fucking typical that Lilia would have her secretary call them to her office and then make them wait.

Her Royal Bitchiness indeed.

The solid mahogany doors stay firmly closed and Mila’s already started a round of Fruit Ninja on her phone.

Victor glances aside at Yuuri, waiting patiently with his back straight and his hands fixed politely in his lap. Lilia would be proud of his perfect posture.

He’ll never stop being amazed at how strong Yuuri is – and at how oblivious he is to that strength. His co-Captain is a pillar of professionalism and calm, meanwhile Victor wants to crawl out of his skin, feeling like it’s too small and he needs to find a bigger one. Like some sort of hermit crab, except the shell is his own insecurities and shortcomings.

Gods, this is the _last_ thing they need right now.

The double doors open and two youngsters in formal HUNTER blues step out – and they do look awfully young. One of them has obnoxiously bright yellow hair with a box-dye red fringe and Victor can immediately tell Lilia’s going to be in a mood when they get inside. He’d be in a mood too if he had to stare at a twenty-something’s bathroom sink dye-job for the whole of what’s supposed to be a formal initiation briefing. 

“The Director will see you now,” Arthur says from his desk.

_Here we go._

The new recruits have stopped to stare at the four of them as they file inside and Mila wiggles her fingers at them, flashing a fangy smile.

“Milochka, don’t tease the youngins,” Victor idly chastises.

“Buzzkill,” Mila stage-whispers back.

Lilia is resplendent as usual in a formal cream blouse and slimming black slacks. Over the years, Victor’s got to watch the streak of gray in her rich black hair grow ever thicker and wider, and still she never fails to look like she holds the whole of Europe on a string. Yakov’s standing beside the desk, face already heavily lined with exhaustion and holding a tablet in his gnarled battle-scarred hands.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia removes the wire-rimmed glasses perched on her angled nose to fix them with a frosty look.

“The details of this briefing do not leave this room,” Lilia said sternly, “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Director.”

Victor exchanges a look with Yuuri who’s clearly just as bewildered as Victor is. Clearly, they aren’t in trouble but if Lilia called them here to give them another job when they’re already on a case…Victor has a bad feeling.

Behind the Director’s desk, the Glass displays a map of Europe with red dots all over it. In some places, the clusters are so tight and thick it looks like splashes of paint.

“In the past eight weeks, there has been an exponential increase in demon sightings,” Lilia began, “What you see on the map are just the incidences that have been reported to date.”

Victor’s disturbed by how out of the loop he is after nearly three months spent infiltrating a stupid crime syndicate. He can imagine the damage that’s likely been caused if the spikes in the numbers have been significant enough to completely overwhelm the amount of staff they have on hand. He knows recruitment efforts in the past decade have been…underwhelming, and not many qualify to even take the HPA let alone pass the damned exam.

“Has this information been made public?” he asked.

“It has not,” Lilia said coolly, “The IMC feels it would be best to minimize the risk of causing global hysteria, as such, we are only notifying current active members of HUNTER and select ROS Agents.”

Next to him, Yuuri raises his hand politely and Lilia’s stern gaze flicked to him, granting him permission to speak.

“This isn’t just concentrated to Europe is it?” there’s the slightest tremor in Yuuri’s voice and Victor immediately reaches for his hand.

“It is not,” Lilia confirmed.

“North America, especially, is having difficulties keeping the sudden influx under control,” Yakov said grimly, “At this rate, it is likely we’ll see exponential destabilization.”

“The IMC and each Branch’s Council have been in talks as of late,” Lilia said, “If this continues the IMC will mandate a rollback in licensing regulations allowing patrol Agents to fight without facing reprimand.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll _totally_ make everything better,” Mila murmurs, “Nothing says ‘patch job’ like a bunch of untrained bookies fighting hungry demons.” Gods, the number of casualties…Victor makes a mental note to get his dress uniform fitted.

Lilia, surprisingly, doesn’t comment on Mila’s sass, instead she just says, “The barrier between the human and demon worlds is in the midst of a breakdown, and I want to know _why_.” She glares at them all over the rim of her wire-frame glasses, “Shouldn’t be too hard a task for a Unit with as high a success rate as yours.”

“Ma’am,” Yuuri interjected, neglecting to raise his hand this time, “we’re already in the middle of a case, we’re too short-staffed to take on another one.” Victor can see the lines of tension writ into the lines of his co-Captain’s back despite the hard-won politeness in his voice and what the group likes to call his Hospitality Face (well, Mila calls it his ‘Dealing With Karen’ face).

“I imagine an infestation on this scale takes priority over a small-time drug racket,” Lilia said, “Therefore, this is _not_ a request, this is an _order_.”

“The information you need has already been sent to your tablets,” Yakov added.

“You three are dismissed,” Lilia gestured to everyone besides him, and now he gets to stay and endure another lecture. 

_Fuck_. What _did_ he do this time?

Georgi shoots a pitying look in Victor’s direction as if to say ‘you’re really in for it now buddy’ as he follows Mila out of the office. He can tell the hacker isn’t pleased and is probably already cursing a blue streak behind the heavy mahogany doors.

“Is there a reason Yuuri can’t be here?” he asked.

“I understand you’ve made Special Agent Katsuki your co-Captain,” Lilia said tartly, “A wise decision on your part, given that he is prone to rationalism and you are not.”

Victor barely repressed a snort at the inaccuracy of that statement and directed his gaze over Lilia’s head at the Glass that’s gone dim, “You’ve got an awful lot of confidence in us.”

“Your Unit has had an impeccable track record since its inception,” Lilia countered, “The numbers don’t lie, as much as the Council remains in denial about it. You’ve become a valuable asset.”

“Aw, shucks, Lilia,” Victor pressed a hand to his chest, “That means _so much_ coming from you.” Lilia looks thoroughly unimpressed with Victor’s sarcasm.

“You’ll be pleased to hear the news that your staffing problem has been resolved,” Yakov cut in, “Two new recruits have been initiated in and they will need a Unit.”

“Yay,” Victor said, “demons love fresh meat.”

The looks he gets from the former couple tell him his humor is unappreciated. But their revenge is delivered ten-fold when he sees bathroom-sink-dye-job is supposed to be briefed in under his command.

 _Double fuck_.

“They look barely old enough to drink,” Victor commented flatly.

“Minami is a formidable Elemental,” Lilia said, “and Nekola’s written scores were middling but his practical was impressive.”

Victor grits his teeth and smiles, “I will discuss it with my Unit, and give you my final say tomorrow.”

Lilia’s Bitch Brow gives the faintest twitch in surprise, “Fine. Tomorrow, o’ nine hundred hours at the latest. Otherwise, I will assume it’s a ‘yes’ and make arrangements for their orientation. You’re dismissed.”

Yuuri’s waiting for him outside Lilia’s office, standing when the door shuts behind Victor.

“Everything alright?” Yuuri asked. Victor laughed, the sound coming out short and bitter instead of the light and airy he was aiming for.

“I should be asking you that,” he said, “It’s been a long day for you.”

“It’s been a long day for both of us,” Yuuri corrected. Victor sighed.

“Yuuri…I-“

“Later,” Yuuri interrupted, “We do need to talk, but…not now?”

“Right,” Victor conceded. He can see that Yuuri is barely holding it together despite his best efforts to downplay their rather disastrous morning and there’s that news he has to share with his team…

“So, what did you do this time?” Georgi asked upon their reentry through the double doors.

“For once, nothing,” Victor said cheerily, “But I do have news.”

Mila takes exception when he makes the announcement.

“Oh _no_. Not the fetuses,” Mila complained, “You gotta be _kidding_ me.” she’s already got the personnel files pulled up on her tablet – from here Victor can see there’s nothing in them besides their education stats and basic information.

“They’re of age,” Georgi grimaced, “And they passed the exam- “

“Passed the HPA my lily-white ass,” Mila interrupted sharply, “This is the Council’s doing, giving us two green members.”

“Lilia wouldn’t actively sabotage us like that,” Yuuri said, then frowned like he didn’t quite believe it himself and Mila snorted.

“She just told us to save the world,” Mila said, “when there was just us rejects.” she gestures lazily at their haphazard little group. “Now, all of a sudden, our staffing issue is resolved but, oh wait, it’s two fucking rookies. Never-mind that _all_ of us had field experience before we were brought on here.”

“I don’t think she’s out to sabotage us,” Victor announced.

“Of fucking course, you don’t,” Mila rolled her eyes and Victor held his hand up before she could go on another rant.

“She’s too ambitious for that,” Victor said, “If we fail – correction, if _I_ fail, then I make her look bad and the Council will gloat saying that they were right all along, and it was a mistake to think I could ever be a Hunter, and blah blah blah.”

“So,” Yuuri begins slowly, “you’re saying this is some kind of ploy to get the Council to shut the hell up for good?”

“Yes, exactly,” Victor said cheerfully, “I doubt it’ll actually work. They love to complain, even more than they love to posture.”

“Another thing,” Georgi said, “we can’t just abandon our current investigation. I don’t agree with that at all.”

“I concur,” Mila sighed, “Even if the whole thing has been a _huge pain in the ass_.”

Yuuri sighed, “It’s a bad idea to split our attention. But, this way, our new members can get broken in and we don’t have to worry about them getting eaten right away.”

“That settles it, then,” Mila said, “We take turns investigating with the fetuses. Georgi, you’re up first.”

“What? Why me?” Georgi protested.

“Because somebody’s gotta nurture the fetuses,” Mila said, “And I know that you’ll nurture the hell out of them.”

“But…but…” Georgi loses what little color is left in his pale face, “I’m not _ready_ to be a mom.”

“Is anybody ever really ready?” Mila patted him on the shoulder, “You’ll do fine, _mama_.” The reassuring smile on her face is belied by the sharp wicked glint and mischievous crinkle of her eyes.

Victor can tell Georgi’s on the fast track to a major meltdown, so he intervenes before the crying starts, “Alright, Mila, that’s enough. I’ll let Lilia know tomorrow morning that we’ll accept the recruits and I’ll get the details then. In the meantime, we have _two_ cases we should be working on.”

Never mind that they have no idea where to begin with their latest job. At least they have a few leads on who Lenz’s partner might be.

“Wait…he had a partner?” Mila blurted, “I thought Lenz was a control freak?”

“Mm, he was,” Victor said, “Enough of one that _none_ of his other associates knew who was in charge of manufacturing. I wasted so much time trying to bribe information out of those clueless idiots.”

“Well, shit,” Mila grumbled, crossing her arms.

“We know Lenz’s partner is deeply paranoid and suspicious,” Yuuri added, “He only ever meets with Lenz and their method of communication is…unconfirmed. Though, I have a theory they used a network of messengers.”

“They didn’t text like everybody else?” Georgi deadpanned.

“’Fraid not,” Victor sighed, “I went so far as to steal his phone during a game of poker. Zilch.”

“Ugh, why must these drug runners be so extra?” Mila complained.

“Did you ever manage to crack into the dealer’s circle?” Georgi asked.

“Not yet,” Yuuri said regretfully, “I mostly kept my head down and my ear to the ground. But it’s damn hard to get close to the supplier. Very tight-knit.”

Which, Victor is entirely relieved to hear. Meeting up with Yuuri while they’d been playing their roles – Victor schmoozing the higher-ups of Lenz’s circle, and Yuuri working the game from the lower rungs – had been virtually impossible.

“I think I could still have a chance,” Yuuri said, “I’ve got intel that could give us the break we need. If you give me another week-“

“You’re not seriously thinking about going back,” Victor railroaded, “Yuuri-“

“Victor.” There was that look, that set jaw and that blazing determination behind his eyes. “We _have_ to find that supplier and we have no other leads.”

“I don’t know, Yuuri,” Mila said warily, “People get cutthroat when it comes to mundane drugs like heroin and meth, never mind what they’d do for _this_ stuff. You’d be out there without backup. I can’t run point _and_ help orient the newbies.”

“I’m not arguing about this anymore,” Yuuri said, crossing his arms, “We’re crunched for time and we have no other leads. I’m going.”

 _He’s put his foot down on this_ , Victor realizes. He wants to push, emphasize that they’ve got a team of brilliant minds here and they can find another way. Now that he knows his uncle is watching, he’s not too keen on the two of them being separated. Again.

“I need some fucking coffee,” Mila declared, scrubbing her hands over her face and starting for the doors. She snags Victor’s elbow on the way out, forcibly dragging him along all the way to the elevator.

“That was subtle,” he tells her. 

“What the fuck was that?” she demands once they were sequestered in the elevator.

“How the hell should I know?” Victor shrugged.

“ _Something_ happened,” Mila accused, “What did you do?”

“How is everything automatically my fault?” Victor said, “I’m just as confused as you are. He’s making a sound argument for going back but-“

“There’ll be no one to run point,” Mila said, “He’ll be out there _by himself_. Victor, you can’t let him go. You gotta pull rank on this one.”

“You know as well as I do how stubborn he is,” Victor reminded her, stepping out of the elevator when it came to a stop, “And he’s pretty set on this. I don’t know if I can convince him to stay.” And _gods_ , does he want him to stay. Yuuri’s just as capable an Exorcist as the rest of his Unit, but against the Nikiforov Clan… Victor’s stomach turns.

The little Starbucks several blocks down from HQ is quiet for once and they wait in silence for their drinks to be made and handed over in a little cardboard drink carrier.

“Look,” Mila sighed, “we’re not gonna figure out how to save the world before closing time. So just…call it an early night and take him home, yeah?”

“Didn’t you pitch a bitch fit because we took an early night yesterday?”

“ _And_ came in late this morning,” Mila pointed out, “But he’s leaving tomorrow, and you two haven’t seen each other at all in, like, two months.”

“Eleven weeks and two days,” Victor corrected. Not that he was actually counting or anything. She rolled her eyes. “Have I told you that you’re a diamond?”

“You could stand to say it a bit more,” Mila flicked her bangs out of her face.

He knows she’s been eyeballing some outrageously expensive drink machine that makes cocktails and now he knows he has to get it for her for Christmas because what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t?

She kicks the doors to the office back open, where Yuuri and Georgi have already started a brainstorming session. Yuuri’s got the rolling whiteboard pulled up to where their desks are clustered together and he’s scribbling ideas in blue dry erase.

“For you and for you,” Mila hands off the last two drinks, “Now what’ve we got here?”

“Um,” Yuuri gestures to the board where he’s drawn a line down the middle, “Georgi thought it would be a good idea to plan some training exercises for the two new members.”

“Georgi,” Mila said, “talk about jumping the gun. We haven’t even decided what color we’re going to paint the nursery yet.”

“Why are you like this?” Georgi sighed, “Greenhorns or not, you gotta stop with the fetus jokes when they actually get here.”

“You’ll have to pry them from my cold dead hands, Gosha,” Mila replied cheerfully, then takes a loud slurp of her Americano.

They bounce ideas back and forth for a while, and when Victor checks the time, he realizes Makkachin is overdue for his walk.

“Wanna come with?” Victor asked Yuuri, who glances at their two Unit members who have somehow devolved into an age-old argument about the validity of the pumpkin spice latte.

“Uh, sure,” Yuuri said.

Mila sends him a two-fingered salute as he steps through the Portal after Yuuri and he returns it with a grateful smile.

On the other side, Yuuri’s struggling to get the harness on their excitable poodle who just keeps wiggling around and bestowing wet slobbery kisses. “M-Makka, stop,” Yuuri laughed, “You gotta-you gotta stay still.” It’s an impulse at this point to snap a photo of the two of them, his chest impossibly warm.

Outside the air is crisp and there’s piles of half-melted snow dotting the streets and making the sidewalk dangerously slick in certain places. The silence between them is thick for the first few minutes.

“Yuuri- “Victor begins.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Yuuri interrupted, “and all I’m asking for is a week. One week. Results or no, I’ll come home in a week.”

Victor sighed, “A part of me wants to say yes, knowing you’ll do the impossible and get what we need, you’ve done it before, but…I’ll be honest, I’m not too keen on the two of us being separated right now.”

Yuuri bites his lip and his brow furrows over the top of his glasses, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Victor said, unintentionally sharp, “Then I _really_ don’t understand why you want to go back. I’ll also admit that I’m asking you not to go because I’m selfish and I want to spend as much time with you as possible, and not just because of what happened this morning.” His partner visibly stiffens at the reminder and Victor feels his gut twist. He’d hoped he’d have more time…more time before Yuuri realized just who Victor was. “Please, help me understand.”

“I can’t do this right now,” Yuuri said suddenly, turning on his heel and walking back the way they came. Victor opens his mouth and then shuts it firmly with a click, clamping down on that impulse to chase him down.

“Come on, Makka,” Victor urges quietly, “One more loop, and then home.”

He desperately hopes they can resolve this. The last thing he wants is for them to part ways with this hanging over their heads.

The lights are on when he gets back home and there’s good smells wafting through the kitchen. Victor toes off his shoes and unclips Makkachin from the harness, hanging the leash on the hook by the door next to his keys and shrugging out of his coat. By the time he looks up, Yuuri is hovering awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen, his fingers fidgeting on the lip of the marble countertop.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri begins. Victor opens his mouth but Yuuri takes a shaky breath and keeps going, “I didn’t…I don’t want to fight. Your request was perfectly reasonable, and I just…I let something your uncle said get to me.”

“Anything that man says should be taken with a grain of salt,” Victor snorted.

“But he _knew_ ,” Yuuri’s cinnamon eyes are glassy behind his bifocals, “he knew what happened to my last partner and he said…he said you wouldn’t want to stay with me if you knew.”

Victor feels like his stomach has dropped through his feet, his chest gone cold and leaden as he takes in what he just heard, “And do you believe that?” it doesn’t take a Ph.D to figure out that Yuuri’s last partner met an unfortunate end. In their line of work, death is common. Victor’s never asked for the details, just like Yuuri’s never pried into his past.

Yuuri looks down at his feet, becoming ever more fidgety and Victor takes a deep breath in through his nose to calm the rising tide of his magic otherwise he runs the risk of ruining his relationship with Yuuri for good _and_ losing the deposit on his apartment. He sags and tries not to panic at the first indiscreet sniffle, and he wastes no time in crossing the floor to gather Yuuri in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” he murmurs, “I didn’t realize…gods, I’m such a bad boyfriend.”

“No, Victor, that’s not-“ Yuuri protests, drawing back to frown at him.

“I’ve failed you,” Victor interjected, “as a lover and as a partner.”

Yuuri’s eyes have gone wide, stunned into silence.

“I’m sorry for not telling you what you were getting into sooner,” Victor said, “I’m sorry you had to endure my uncle’s mind games by yourself, and most of all, I am so sorry that I ever gave you cause to doubt me. _Please_ tell me how I can fix this, Yuuri, I-“ the Warlock in his arms starts crying and Victor clamps down on the panic welling up in his throat. “Yuuri? Yuuri, please don’t cry, I’m so sorry-“

“Godsdammit, stop apologizing,” Yuuri sniffled, “I’m sorry too, you jerk. I never should’ve doubted you.”

“I’ve never given you a reason not to,” Victor argued weakly, “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about my family, now have I?” he’s let little details slip here and there – he’s regaled Yuuri with stories of his siblings and how he’d always wanted a dog growing up. Nothing about sparring for hours blindfolded or how the first time he’d killed someone he’d looked at all that red and thought, _Messy_.

“Victor, I don’t really care about that,” Yuuri said, “You’re _not_ your family. You’ve been serving as an Exorcist for over twenty years. What I care about is _you_. The person you are right now. And I shouldn’t have let your Uncle scare me into thinking otherwise.”

Victor stares at him for a moment, taking in the grim determination and ballsy defiance in Yuuri’s eyes and can’t help but crack a smile, “Ah, Yuuri. I so admire your strength.”

“I’m not strong,” Yuuri scoffed, “Just really _really_ petty.”

“I’ll have to disagree, my love,” Victor kissed his forehead.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Yuuri said, “We should eat.”

“It smells wonderful,” Victor agreed.

Yuuri serves them both generous helpings of yakisoba and Victor is reminded that he hasn’t eaten much of anything, especially since he woke up in a panic. He was surprised to get there and find Yuuri in the dining room that was usually reserved for dinner parties. It was the most grossly opulent room in the mansion. As long as he’d lived there, he’d always eaten in the kitchen.

“What else did my uncle tell you?” Victor asked. Yuuri chews for a moment, frowning in thought.

“Not much,” he says, “He called me boring and…” the frown deepens, “he implied that I swindled you into dating me.”

Victor laughed, “I can’t wait until he finds out that _I’m_ the one who asked _you_ out.” Yuuri’s cracks a little smile, but quick as it came it disappeared.

“I think he thinks I’m not good enough for you, or something,” Yuuri said. 

“He doesn’t know you,” Victor said, “therefore his opinion doesn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered for a long time.” He pauses, “If it makes you feel any better, my mother would like you.”

“You really think so?” the bit of hope that enters his voice…gods, Yuuri is _so_ adorable.

“There’s no reason for her not to like you,” Victor said, “Besides, she knows how happy you make me. You’ve already got her seal of approval.” he picks up a clump of noodles with his chopsticks.

“I know I’m being silly,” Yuuri sighed into his bowl, “wanting their approval. They’re your family but they’re also criminals.”

“It’s not silly,” Victor said, “I was a nervous wreck when I met your family.” He should’ve known that just like Yuuri, they would be able to see past his criminal background and the bloodstained legacy of his family name.

“What…what is your family like?” Yuuri asked.

“Huge,” Victor answered honestly, “I can’t keep track of all the cousins I have. Family reunions were an absolute nightmare. Really, we’re more of a clan than a family. We’re kind of spread out all over the globe.”

“Wow,” Yuuri marveled, “It’s always just been me, my parents, and Mari. And, I guess the Nishigoris count. And Minako- _sensei_.”

“I kind of envy you,” Victor joked, “At least you can keep track of them all.” Yuuri snorted. “With my family it’s a bit…complicated.”

“Gee, a family of assassins? Complicated?” Yuuri said, “Who would’ve guessed?”

“We’re not _just_ assassins,” Victor told him, “At least, not anymore. The clan’s branched out significantly over the past century. Under my uncle, the Nikiforovs have built one of the largest criminal empires on the planet.” He swirls his noodles in the sauce that’s pooled in the bottom of his bowl, “Take the old stories with a grain of salt. Time has twisted them into fairy tales. _I’ve_ certainly never eaten naughty children.”

Yuuri frowned at him, “Victor, you’re acting like I’ve thought you were a monster all this time.”

“I’m more surprised that you haven’t,” Victor deadpanned, “Everyone else seems to think so.”

“That’s not true,” Yuuri rebutted, “Mila doesn’t. Georgi doesn’t.”

“You’ve seen me cry while watching _Marley and Me_ ,” Victor said. 

“Exactly,” Yuuri said, “Are you finished?”

Victor looks down at his empty bowl, “Is there seconds?”

After dinner, Victor coaxes Yuuri into taking a soak in the tub like they used to on their rare days off. It’s nothing compared to the lovely hot springs at the little inn back in Hasetsu, but it’s still nice, especially with Yuuri cuddled against his front all loose-limbed and relaxed.

“I missed this,” Yuuri murmurs, “Missed you.”

“I missed you more,” Victor replied, pressing a kiss into Yuuri’s hair, “every single day.”

Yuuri lifts his head to press a kiss to Victor’s jaw, that tingling warmth spreading across his skin, familiar and addictive. Victor turns his head to catch another kiss with his mouth, relishing the little sigh he coaxes out of his partner. His arms wrap a little more tightly around Yuuri, keeping him close while deepening the kiss.

His head feels light as a feather – probably from all of his blood immediately rushing south – pleasantly high on the skin to skin contact he’d been craving for those damned eleven weeks. Sleeping alone in that tacky overpriced apartment in Vienna had been some new kind of torture.

Yuuri shifts his weight and ends up putting the most delightful pressure on Victor’s erection. Victor can’t help the groan that escapes into their kiss.

“Victor, you’re so sensitive,” Yuuri comments idly, pressing a chaste peck to the corner of Victor’s mouth, fingers stroking gently along his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says, meeting Yuuri’s slightly unfocused gaze, “I didn’t mean-“ he'd meant for their bath time to be relaxing and for basking in their togetherness until Yuuri goes away for another week. 

“Shh,” Yuuri soothes, “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

Yuuri shifts again to face him and that pressure from Yuuri’s hip disappears, prompting a bitten-off groan. The tub is barely wide enough to allow Yuuri to straddle him – Victor makes a mental note to install a jacuzzi when he gets a chance – and initiate a much deeper kiss. He loses track of time, lost in the wet velvet slide of Yuuri’s tongue and the warm weight in his lap. His thumbs stroke gentle paths along the sensitive skin of Yuuri’s inner thighs, feeling his partner shiver.

“Nn, don’t tease,” Yuuri chastises him breathlessly.

“You tease me all the time,” Victor chuckled, just as breathless, “Seriously Yuuri, you can be a sadist.”

“You _like_ it,” Yuuri pointed out, half-accusing and half-amused.

“I do,” Victor admitted, nuzzling Yuuri’s neck and pressing a chaste kiss to his pulse point, feeling Yuuri’s life flutter underneath his lips, “I love everything you do to me.”

“You can’t just… _say_ things like that,” Yuuri whined, turning pink.

“And why not?” Victor teased, trailing his lips up to Yuuri’s jaw and biting off a shout when a hand grabs his erection and gives it a firm stroke.

“Makes me wanna ruin you,” Yuuri admitted, his voice so low and dark it makes Victor shiver. Yuuri doesn’t stop, his hand taking up a practiced fast rhythm and Victor can’t help but arch his hips into it.

“Yuu-Yuuri,” Victor gasps, “Gonna come. _Fuck_.”

It’s a little embarrassing that he doesn’t even last five minutes with Yuuri’s hands on him, sagging against the wall of the tub with a punched-out groan. He takes a good thirty seconds to gather his wits and look at his partner who’s got a bit of a smug expression on his face.

“Come here,” Victor puts his hands on Yuuri’s waist, coaxing him a little closer and urging him to stand until Victor’s eye-level with Yuuri’s hips. The whine he gets when he kisses the tip makes him chuckle, “So sensitive, _Yuu_ ri.” and he parts his lips to take his partner in to the root. He doesn’t register the hands slamming into the wall above his head for balance, focused on bringing Yuuri off just as fast. He groans low at the weight on his tongue, his lips and mouth tingling.

“Oh _shit_.” He can tell Yuuri’s close and he reaches up to stroke a finger along his perineum, prompting a low, “Vic _tor_.” He draws back to let his tongue tickle the spot just underneath the glans where Yuuri is most sensitive, relishing the way his voice takes on a needy note, “Vitya- _ah!_ ” he catches most of Yuuri’s spend on his tongue and the rest dribbles down his chin.

“Mmm,” Victor hums, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s thigh.

“You’re a menace,” Yuuri accused hoarsely.

“You’re welcome,” Victor replied, “We should probably get out now.” the water's near tepid and he’s pretty sure his toes have pruned by now. Yuuri carefully straightens and lowers himself back into the safety of Victor’s lap with shaky knees.

“Give me, like, thirty seconds to get my knees working again,” Yuuri said, burying his face in Victor’s neck.

“Oh, alright,” Victor murmured fondly. It doesn’t take much magic to bring the bathwater back up to an acceptable temperature and they spend five minutes making sure they’re both clean before finally getting out, drying off, and crawling into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone say happy birthday to Kiara, for whom I wrote the porn as a secondary (belated) birthday present since the primary I got her was lackluster. 
> 
> Anybody here seen 'Marley and Me'? I swear to Hades, that part at the end always gets me. Any movie with a dog in it is 80% likely to make me cry. 
> 
> Stay healthy, stay hydrated, stay safe. <3


	4. Any Noun Can Become A Verb If You Try Hard Enough

_October 2024; St. Petersburg_

He’s coaxed into wakefulness, blinking blearily into the darkness of his bedroom. Yuuri’s warmth is conspicuously missing and he automatically turns towards the sound of the faucet when he hears it, heaving a little sigh through his nose.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Yuuri murmurs, silently padding over to place a light kiss on Victor’s forehead.

“You leaving?” Victor mumbled, shaking off the fog of a deep good sleep.

“Yeah,” Yuuri sighed, “I have to go now before the trail goes cold.”

“Glad I woke up then,” Victor said, reaching for Yuuri’s hand and weaving their fingers together, “Have breakfast with me?” 

“It’ll have to be quick,” Yuuri said apologetically, that soft fondness on his face making Victor feel all warm inside.

He lugs himself out of bed – glancing at the clock – a whole two hours earlier than projected. He doesn’t have to meet Lilia for another four. The coffee machine comes to life and starts quietly boiling water while he pops toast in the toaster. Yuuri cracks four eggs into a rapidly heating pan and Victor hugs him from behind, planting loud obnoxious kisses to whatever skin he can reach.

“Victor, stawp,” Yuuri complained, “You’re gonna make me burn the eggs.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Victor pouted, but refused to let go, using his magic to plate the toast when it pops up. He loosens his hold when Yuuri turns off the stove and gently scoops each egg out of the frying pan. Reluctantly, he steps away to pour them both a generous cup of coffee. They eat quietly, the silence between them thick but comfortable, just enjoying each other’s company.

Yuuri says goodbye to Makkachin first, giving him belly rubs while he coos in affectionate Japanese. Victor catches only a few words, “…good boy…love you.”

“One week,” Victor reminded him when Yuuri stood and turned to hug him.

“One week,” Yuuri agreed, hugging him tightly.

“I’ll miss you terribly,” Victor murmured, “ _Please_ stay safe.” _I miss you already. Come back to me._

“I will,” Yuuri promised, pressing a kiss to Victor’s bare shoulder before drawing back to press another one to his lips, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The door closes and Victor swallows hard around the lump of dread sitting on his larynx. He’s never been religious, but he prays to whatever deity that may be listening that Yuuri comes back to him and all this anxiety is because he’s overthinking things. Makkachin whines while looking forlornly at the door.

“I know, Makka,” Victor sighed, “Me too.”

He finishes his coffee, sets the dishes to wash, and gets dressed to take Makkachin on his walk. The poodle is very obviously pouting now that Yuuri’s gone and Victor snaps a photo on his phone. His finger hovers over the ‘send’ button before he deletes the drafted message. It’s a long quiet walk with just him, Makkachin, and the occasional screech of the seagulls.

The poodle crawls into his bed to sulk as soon as they get back to the apartment and Victor is tempted to do the same except, he’ll just miss Yuuri more if he does. All that space without Yuuri’s warm weight and the gentle smell of Yuuri’s shampoo? After finally having him back in his arms last night he just can’t do it. It’s only been an hour, and he already keenly feels his absence.

An hour later Mila finds him in the gym.

“I knew I’d find you here,” she announces, hands planted on her legging-clad hips.

“Very well done, Milochka,” Victor says, pausing before conjuring another throwing knife, “Excellent detective work.” He lets the knife free with a flick of his wrist and clicks his tongue when he misses the bullseye by a sliver.

She gives him a withering look, “Okay, I know you’re just being bitchy because your better half is gone, but you need to roll back the sass.”

“I can’t help it,” Victor whined, flapping his arms petulantly, “I already miss him.”

Mila rolled her eyes, “It’s only been what? A hour?”

“Two hours and six minutes,” Victor mumbled.

“Poor you,” Mila deadpanned, “Suffering the consequences of being completely inept at persuasion.”

“I’m persuasive,” Victor protested, and Mila just gives him another Look. “It’s just…You know how stubborn he is. There was nothing I could say to convince him.”

Mila clicks her tongue and doesn’t look appeased, and Victor is rather inclined to agree with her. Maybe he’ll have some peace of mind if he smooths things over with his uncle. He already knows what Vasily wants and dangling that in front of him might be enough to get him to lay off until they finish these last two jobs.

The knife hits the bullseye this time and he takes it as a sign.

“All I’m gonna say is, I hope you have a contingency plan here, Victor,” Mila said, “because if he doesn’t come home, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

He can’t even deny it. His attachment to Yuuri used to scare him. How intensely he felt for his co-Captain, field partner, and lover still caught him unawares sometimes. A part of him would gladly let the world burn if it meant he got to keep Yuuri, while another knows that Yuuri would be sad if that happened, so he has to do his damnedest not to let it.

Who knew this love thing could be so complicated?

He sighed and checked the time.

“I should go. I have to meet Lilia.”

“Why?” Mila snorted, “She already knows your answer.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Milochka,” Victor replied, the knives yanking themselves from the target before dissolving into formless smoke and disappearing, “I know my rights as a Captain.”

“Kind of a weird flex,” Mila told him, “But go off, I guess.”

Victor goes home to change and stalls for time playing with Makkachin until he absolutely has to go. He doesn’t waste any time going through the main entrance and coming up through the lobby, instead he just Portals to Lilia’s floor and startles the poor secretary by breezing by the desk.

“W-wait-“

“It’s quite alright, Arthur,” Victor called over his shoulder, “She’s expecting me.”

He hears the secretary sigh and call after him, “At least knock.”

Of course, he does. He wasn’t raised in a zoo. Lilia sits behind her desk with a latte in one hand and her fountain pen in the other, finishing off her crisp signature with a practiced flick before setting whatever the hell it is aside.

“You’re on time,” Lilia said, fixing him with an unreadable look over the rim of her spectacles.

“You’d have me hanged if I was late,” Victor snorted, and Lilia scoffed.

“Well? What’s your verdict then?”

“I know you only gave us the rookies because you have nowhere else to dump them,” Victor said, “So, I’ll take them off your hands, go through the trouble of making them into nice little soldiers for you, but on the condition you give us the leash with our most recent case.”

If Lilia was smug about Victor’s acceptance of the two members, she didn’t show it. The woman could’ve been a world class poker player with how well she controlled her face. Lilia arched an expertly plucked brow, “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“We’re having this conversation, aren’t we?” Victor said sweetly, “You’ve always been quick to demonstrate to the Council that you’ve tamed a Nikiforov. But, if you want us to do this for you, you give us carte blanche.”

“Very well.”

There are ways to get the intel he needs but he can’t do that if he’s at the end of his chain. And really, it’s about time he’s had the same freedom and trust as any other Exorcist in this godsdamned building. As Hunters their reach extends a little farther than the ordinary bookies who dealt with petty crime and ordinary homicide, but there’s still a lot of red tape. And Victor’s read the Code back to front, memorized the right policies purely out of spite, so when they send the Inquisitor to his desk, he has the means to justify every decision and watch his persecutors stew in the knowledge that his actions were sanctioned under the Code. His Unit had faced multiple Inquisitions for exploiting loopholes to shorten investigations.

“And we will not be dropping our prior investigation,” Victor said, “We have a reputation to uphold.”

Lilia breaks her airtight composure to glance heavenward for help that will never come before dismissing him.

“Pleasure doing business with you Director,” Victor smiles and walks all the way across the department back to the office where Mila’s currently in a stand-off with Yakov, their eyes narrowed in an attempt to out-glare each other.

“What have we here?” Victor asked slowly, glancing at Georgi who’s giving him the ‘thank the gods you’re here’ look.

“Victor,” Mila turns to him, “they want to orient the fetuses _tomorrow_.”

“Uh…” Victor looks at Yakov. Of course, the Head Bitch in Charge had completely failed to mention that. And really, he should’ve known they would pull something like this. He’ll never understand how getting a divorce made them even better at ganging up on him.

“The sooner they begin, all the better for you,” Yakov said.

“And how, pray tell, are we supposed to be ready to orient two greenhorns in twenty-four hours?” Victor asked, “Yakov, you and the Director literally just told us to save the world _yesterday_.”

“And you said you didn’t have enough staff to do so,” Yakov growled, “I fail to see what the issue is here.”

Victor sighed, already tired of arguing about this. “You know what? Fine. Add it onto the pile. What’s one more thing?”

Yakov grunts and shuts himself in his office. Victor collapses into his desk chair with a sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“What the fuck was what?” Mila demanded, rounding on him, “Victor, we can’t-“

“I know, Mila,” Victor said, “Trust me. I know.”

“Please tell me you have a plan,” Georgi interjected, “I’m not sure we can keep up at this point. With Yuuri gone- ouch!” Georgi rubs the arm that’s smarting from Mila’s lightning-quick smack.

Gods, he misses Yuuri already.

“So, what’s the plan, El Capitano?” Mila said, purposefully butchering her pronunciation and earning a ‘why are you like this?’ look from Georgi.

“I don’t have one,” Victor admitted, earning twin groans and a muttered ‘typical’, “At least not for the fetuses. Not just yet.”

“Sooo, how are we supposed to orient them tomorrow?” Georgi said.

“We don’t,” Victor said simply, “Lilia and Yakov can hem and haw all they want, but this is still _my_ team. Mila, forward me their contact info and I will happily inform our darling little duckies that we won’t require their presence tomorrow, as we’ll be out of the office.”

Mila shrugs and reaches for her tablet, while Georgi squints, “Wait…we will?”

“Yep, make sure you clear your schedule, Gosha,” Victor says cheerfully, “we’re goin’ huntin’.”

“Don’t…don’t do that,” Mila wrinkled her nose.

He knows that he’ll most certainly catch hell from Yakov and Lilia for delaying the newbies’ orientation, but he refuses to let that stop him from drafting the fastest email in the history of ever and sending it.

“Not that I’m not grateful for delaying Georgi’s impending motherhood,” Mila said, talking over Georgi’s indignant squawk, “but won’t we all get in trouble for this?”

“Lilia’s giving us carte blanche,” Victor said, “so no. No, we won’t. Besides, I’m not taking two greenhorns out on the town when we haven’t had a chance to vet the best hotspots. Gotta show the newbs a good time.”

They haven’t had a chance to actually go out and get an idea of just how bad the situation on the streets is. It was one thing to show him a map and rattle off statistics, but he’s always considered himself more of a kinesthetic learner. 

Mila and Georgi exchange a Look. “Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second. Don’t tell me you believed her when she told you ‘yes’.”

“I don’t,” Victor said, “Lilia’s clearly got her own ideas, but I’m not about to dissect them right now. We have a job to do.”

The map of reported sightings is even uglier on Mila’s stolen SmartBoard, especially when he looks at North America. There are patches of red over the major cities instead of individualized dots, just like Europe, except theirs are exponentially bigger and will most likely continue to grow unless they figure out a way to slow down or stop the infestation.

Mila swore, “It’s only a matter of time before they’re overrun.”

“Who’s to say that they aren’t already?” Georgi said cynically, “I wouldn’t be surprised if NABs starts requesting help from the other branches.”

“And we all know how well _that_ will go,” Mila scoffed.

Victor thinks of their comrades across the pond, and the likelihood of the other branches closing the borders using the continental barriers that were established after the first infestation back in the 90s that had spread across the U.S. and spilled over into Canada and all the way down into Colombia.

He can see the concerned crease between Mila’s brows, the anxiety in the way her arms are crossed, and he knows who she’s thinking about. He gives her a nudge, “Hey. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

“I’m not so sure,” Mila frowned, “This is…big.”

“That’s what she said,” Victor muttered, and Mila rolls her eyes at him, her lip twitching as she fights down a snort.

“Really?” Georgi wrinkled his nose, “This is supposed to be serious.”

“Of course, you’re right,” Victor agreed, “This is a time for maturity.” He accidentally makes eye contact with Mila and has to purse his lips to the point of pain, a snort of laughter escaping his nose before he can suppress it, and Georgi sighs when he sees Mila isn’t faring any better.

They get themselves under control for about ten seconds before they start giggling like middle schoolers.

“Okay okay, for real though,” Mila sniffled, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes, “what the hell are we gonna do?”

“I’m working on something,” Victor said, determined to let his brain cook the festering idea in the very back of his mind until it gives birth to a fully fleshed out brainchild, “But, for now, we need data.”

Mila gets them access to all the old case files from the North American Branch – even the ones that had been redacted for security purposes. He’s pretty sure the cause of the first infestation was never discovered. Or, at least, if it was, they certainly never announced it.

“Gods, look at this handwriting,” Mila points to a scan of a handwritten report, “Thank the gods for word processors.”

“Some of this is illegible,” Georgi agreed, he holds up his tablet, showing where he’s zoomed in on a long scribble, “Like this. What the hell does this say?”

Victor squints, “Is that an ‘r’ or an ‘m’?”

Georgi just sighs, “Heaven help us.”

Fortunately, the handwritten reports are few and Victor certainly has a new appreciation for the mandatory requirement that all reports be typed.

A lot of it is useless – ordinary recounts of a Hunt gone spectacularly wrong, incident reports where the tally of civilian deaths and property damage probably plunged NABs into a spectacular amount of debt. He starts to notice the difference in reports from Hunters in smaller cities versus the larger ones – the former tends to waffle on while the latter is short and lacks detail but gets straight to the point of describing the event.

“Are anybody else’s eyes burning?” Mila asked, abruptly breaking the silence, “Because mine are.”

“If I never look at another screen again it’ll be too soon,” Georgi groans, facedown at his desk, tablets and notebook abandoned.

“I’m getting coffee,” Mila sighed, throwing her notepad down onto her desk, “Any takers?”

“Please,” Victor and Georgi said.

He closes out of the current file, finding nothing useful there and moves on to the next one. It’s type-written, dated for the second of April in 1994 and he immediately pays closer attention when he sees the name attached to it: Celestino Cialdini, Class B-1-H.

> At 0500 hours Gamma Unit received word of the cluster.
> 
> At 0610, Gamma Unit converged on the service tunnel beneath 116th and Broadway.
> 
> At approximately 0636 Gamma Unit found what we thought was the first and only nest. The remains of the Unit before ours were discovered. Tags were collected and will be submitted to the moratorium. Upon attempt to inspect and destroy the nest, we were attacked by what we assume were the ‘mothers’. Special Agent Bones and I exterminated the aspid. Special Agent Parker and Agent Lionel suffered critical burns while battling the kruiphor. Agents Moore and Wilson were critically injured against the mylum and died on scene.
> 
> At 0702 the eggs were destroyed, and Special Agent Bones placed a seal over the site. 
> 
> 0927 Parker and Lionel have been declared dead at Flamel Memorial Hospital.

He sets the tablet aside, grim foreboding twisting his stomach into knots and all the little hairs on the back of his neck are standing at attention. The same man who wore a frilly purple apron and made heavenly chocolate chip cookies had written such a clinical description of his team becoming overwhelmed and losing four members.

When he picks the tablet back up and gives the screen a tap, he sees someone from the Archives must’ve gone back and linked Jade’s and Celestino’s report. Though, hers reads more like an entry from a scientific field journal than a clinical incident report.

> . . .Other observations would suggest these particular species are territorial and tend to thrive in environments that share a similarity to the tunnels beneath New York City. So far, I have observed similar behaviors from similar clusters located in Chicago and Los Angeles where public metropolitan transportation is more common. However, I have only witnessed nesting behaviors near or on top of both known and previously undiscovered convergence points.

“You look like you found something,” Mila comments, handing him a cup of coffee and he hands her his tablet so she can read it for herself.

“Courtesy of Dr. Bones, some insight on what we might see out there,” Victor said.

It makes sense for demons to build nests where demonic energy is the strongest. He imagines having one in the human world is ideal for species – endless food supply for the spawn when they hatch and a steady income of that Gehenna juice to promote growth of aforementioned spawn.

“How many convergence points are there in Europe?” Mila asked.

“Altogether? I have no clue,” Victor shrugged.

“You’re supposed to know this stuff,” Mila said.

“I’m a Warlock, not an all-knowing oracle,” Victor replied. Behind them Georgi lets out an exasperated sigh.

“There are six major convergence points in Europe,” Georgi recited, voice muffled because his cheek is smushed against the desk, “where Earth, Fae, and Gehenna all intersect. We learned this in school?”

“Hm. I must’ve skipped that class,” Victor mumbled, completely drawing a blank, and took a sip of his coffee. It has a strange smell and the flavor is a little bit off, “What kind of grounds did you use?”

“Someone brought in some artisan blueberry flavored shit,” Mila said, “It’s fuckin’ weird, but I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

“I kinda like it,” Georgi declared, delicately sipping from his own cup.

“Of course, you do, Gosha,” Mila said, “You have no taste.” Georgi sticks his tongue out at her.

Victor sighed, deciding he’s had worse, and just chugs it to get it all down without tasting it because he sorely needs the caffeine. The paper cup goes into the trash and he stands to stretch, “Okay. I think a trip to the Archives is in order.”

“I’m coming with,” Mila said, crumpling her empty cup and tossing it, “If I sit here any longer, I’ll lose my damn mind. You coming or not, Gosha?” 

“I guess,” Georgi sighed, draining the last of his coffee and following close behind. 

The noise of the lobby is completely suppressed by the double doors shutting behind them, leaving the trio in the low susurrating silence of the European Archives. Victor asked the tiles for help in finding materials on convergence points since there was not a single Scribe in sight to provide assistance, and with the constantly rearranging shelves it’s impossible to tell where anything might be.

“You’d think six-hundred years would be enough time to organize a library,” Mila grumbled, “But nooo-“

“Shhh,” Georgi said, “you’re being too loud.”

“ _Everything_ is loud in here, Gosha,” Mila said.

Victor ignores them, concentrating on keeping track of which turns to take to find the way out when they need it. Knowing the Archives, the shelves will have rearranged themselves by the time they actually find what they need.

The tiles lead them down a particularly narrow aisle between two shelves and the guiding tile disappears. Victor starts to scan the section and finds the amount of material available on convergence points is astonishingly paltry.

“I thought more people would be interested in them,” Mila pointed out, flipping through a dusty book with yellowing pages, “Y’know, relationships between our worlds and all that jazz.”

“Hm, maybe we’ll find more information elsewhere,” Victor said, looking up the brightly lit aisle towards the sound of a squeaky book cart just as a Scribe comes into view, pushing said cart in front of him.

“Hey!” Mila calls out, “Excuse me!”

The Scribe pauses and blinks owlishly at the vampire flagging him down, “Hm?”

“Where can I find more materials on convergence points?” Mila asked.

“Uh…if you give me,” he looks at the cart, considers the pile of books on it, and sighs, “Just…come with me.”

Victor is convinced that the Scribes are gifted with innate knowledge of how to navigate the labyrinthian library as they follow him back to the help desk. After a moment of typing on the wide flatscreen monitor mounted at the desk he flatly tells them there’s more materials at the Asian Branch.

“Asian Branch?” they all parrot incredulously.

“Yep,” the Scribe deadpanned.

They can either request that the materials be sent here or go directly to ABHQ. The Scribe informs them that there’s no guarantee they’ll get what they need in enough time.

“There’s some digital stuff you can access,” the Scribe says, “any research that’s on delicate medium won’t be shipped to you. They’ll decline the request if you submit it.”

“Thank you for all your help,” Victor says. They end up awkwardly following the Scribe back to where they were and instead of wandering off to find a study table then inevitably getting lost, Victor invites them to take a seat right there in the middle of the narrow aisle.

“You mean it’s not field trip time?” Mila asked, lowering herself to the tile floor, “Who are you and what have you done with Victor?”

“We can pay a visit to the Asian Branch if what we find here doesn’t help,” Victor said, folding his long legs crisscross-applesauce, “Besides, I don’t think we can afford a trip off continent right now.”

He’s loathe to leave Europe with Yuuri still out in the field by himself. It’s bad enough his co-Captain is out there without a point man but even worse would be taking any backup over the continental borders, even if it’s just for an hour or two.

He hopes Yuuri is safe wherever he is and that he’s got at least one ally out there to watch his back. A sheaf of papers hits him in the forehead. It doesn’t hurt but he pouts at Mila, completely offended, and she glares right back.

“Stop slacking off,” she said, “We got shit to do.”

“Alright alright,” Victor sighed, opening a thick tome in the cradle of his lap. He supposed that pining could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ranking system for Exorcists (Hunters in particular) was partially taken from Gangsta. by Kohske. (Really good anime and manga btw. 10/10 would recommend if you're into that gritty shit). Exorcists are separated into classes D-A and then within that class given a "score" out of 6, with 1 being the highest. The only class higher than A is X.
> 
> The -H or -N is pretty straightforward. 'H' stands for HUNTER while 'N' is for the Noncombatant or standard police force. 
> 
> If y'all wanna see a breakdown of the characters and their ranks and stuff, lemme know. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated <3


	5. The Bread of God is Bread

_October 2024; Berlin_

He glances at the address written in smudged ballpoint pen on his palm and then at the unit number plate hanging on for dear life to make sure it’s the right one before he knocks on the door. A minute goes by, then two, and Yuuri raises his fist to knock again. Inside he hears muffled curses before the deadbolt is thrown and the door swung wide open.

“What?” the tenant snarls, pink hair hanging in sleep-messy clumps around her face. Yuuri pulled the collar of his shirt aside just enough to flash the ball-chain around his neck and his contact heaves a long-suffering sigh. She steps aside, sharply gesturing for him to come in before she slams the door shut, “You’re late.”

“And you’re,” Yuuri glanced at his hand again, “Gin?”

“Yeah,” Gin yawns, rubbing one of her eyes and smearing leftover eyeliner across her temple and the top of her cheek. There’s a gray-black smudge on the side of her hand from aforementioned eyeliner and she lets out an, “Ah, fuck.” when she notices. Gin wipes her hand off on her pajama bottoms and gives him a once-over, “You look different than how Jax described you.”

“It’s safer for me to wear a glamour,” Yuuri said, he doesn’t completely let it fall but disturbs the illusion just enough for Gin to get a good look behind it at his real face. Gin’s apartment is decent in one of the less-decent neighborhoods on the east side. Small, but clean with the ugliest cheap brown carpeting made even uglier by the faded paisley wallpaper. The pink couch shoved against the far wall looks like it had its heyday back in the 80s and it’s been downhill since then.

He Wards the apartment for privacy, sealing the walls against prying ears and eyes.

“You were supposed to be here last night,” Gin said, “Now everything’ll be rushed through.”

“I’m really sorry,” Yuuri said, “Something came up.” _My Unit and I have to find the source of the current infestation currently spreading across the globe and save the planet, but you know. It’s whatever._

“Yeah yeah yeah, I get it,” Gin rolled her eyes, “Hunter’s gotta hunt.” She pads into her tiny kitchen and pulls a soda out of the fridge, “Want one?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Yuuri declined. She shrugged and took her drink with her to the ratty sofa.

“Did Jax give you the scoop?” Gin asked, popping the tab on her cola, “What am I saying? Of course, he fuckin’ didn’t. That fucker wouldn’t know how to make my life easier if I gave him a goddamn manual.” The vitriol in her voice abruptly reminds him of a certain former intern and it makes his lip quirk in a fond little smile.

“How long have you been embedded here?” Yuuri asked.

“’Bout eighteen months,” Gin answered, after taking a long drink, “worked my way up the chain relatively quick.”

Gods, being on a stint that long sounds like torture. The longest he’s ever lasted in deep cover without cracking is nine months and…well that case had gone completely tits up anyway.

“I heard rumors the manufacturer set up his base here,” Yuuri said.

“You heard right,” Gin said, slurping cola off the top of the can, “He’s a paranoid fuck, keeps his identity under tight wraps. Nobody knows his real name ‘cept for Frown.”

“Frown?”

“He’s the Kingpin,” Gin said, “biggest dealer in Berlin. And no wonder, he gets first pick of the supply and how it gets distributed.”

Holy _shit_.

“How’ve I not heard his name before?” Yuuri murmurs.

“Where were you embedded before this?”

“Bratislava,” Yuuri answered.

“Dunno much about how things are run there,” Gin said, “but Frown stays behind the scenes a lot. For such a powerful man he’s an elusive fucker. Took me about six months to start hearing his name and find out who he was.” 

“How do I meet him?” Yuuri asked.

“I was getting to that,” Gin replied, then let out a loud belch, “There’s a club I heard he likes to frequent. And, luckily for you, I know the hiring manager.” She hauls herself off the couch to peek into the kitchen at the microwave clock and lets out a sigh. “Alright, we got time. I told her four ‘o clock.” It’s currently two fifteen and Gin disappears to shower and get dressed while Yuuri twiddles his thumbs. He’d stashed his phone in a safety deposit box at the train station and he’s itching to call Victor and tell him immediately what he’s learned.

It'll have to wait. If he talks to Victor now, he’ll be tempted to cut the job short and come home sooner because he’s so very weak.

Gin reemerges from her bedroom – damp hair braided, thot clothes on, and eyeliner heavily reapplied – and she gives Yuuri an assessing look.

“Is…there something on my face?” he asked slowly.

“Lose the Tags,” Gin tells him, “you get caught with those they’ll gut you in a heartbeat.”

His neck feels a little bare, but he does as she says and banishes them.

“You might have to drop the glamour.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re boring to look at with it,” Gin emphasized, “From what I’ve heard, Frown doesn’t discriminate between the sexes, but he’s not going to look twice at you when you’re plainer than a tea biscuit.”

“I don’t want to seduce him,” Yuuri spluttered, losing his tenuous grip on the illusion in his surprise, cheeks burning with mortification, “I…I’m _in a relationship_.”

Gin looks less than impressed.

“That’s cute. You’re gonna invite him for tea, then? Braid each other’s hair and become best mates instead?” Gin said, “Are all Hunters delusional or is it just you?”

Yuuri bristles, “Okay, first of all, there are other ways to get intel from someone without seducing them. Second, I _outrank_ you.” he knows it’s a cheap shot, but it doesn’t stop the petty part of him from enjoying her annoyance at the reminder, “You may have let this job take everything you have, but I _will not_ let the same happen to me. You understand?”

 _Not again._ Never _again._

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanna fight,” Gin said, a growl rumbling in her chest.

“I don’t want to fight,” Yuuri said, “We’re on the same side. We shouldn’t be fighting. Respect my boundaries, and I’ll respect yours…or lack thereof.”

Gin lets out a begrudging, “Fine.”

So, the glamour stays.

The club that Frown apparently likes to frequent is an upscale spot on the west side. It gives off serious ‘gentlemen’s club’ vibes with plush modernistic furniture and VIP booths with their own alcoves set into the walls that could easily sit up to ten people. Deep reds, lush purples, and polished brass accents gives the club a luxurious and sultry feel. 

Gin’s contact is an older woman – a vampire – counting euros at the bar, and she throws down the last bill on the glass top just as they approach her.

“Peter, this is Bea,” Gin introduces him, “Bea, this is Peter. He’s one of my old mates.” Yuuri extends his hand to shake hers, retracting it when Bea ignores the attempted handshake. The vampire gives him a cursory once-over, “You got any experience in food service?”

“My parents own a restaurant,” Yuuri answered.

Bea sticks a cigarette between her lips and lights it, looking at Gin over the bright ember at the end, “I’ll give him the week. See how he does.” She gives him another cursory once-over. “We open at seven. Sharp. That means you’re here at six.”

It’s barely four-thirty, which gives him plenty time to eat something and mentally prepare himself for tonight. He’s tempted to put a perception barrier on his glasses to give him that safety margin, but he’s never needed any extra help skating under the radar.

“Bea’s one of the good ones,” Gin tells him later, while she rummages in her pockets for a packet of gum, “still shady as fuck all, but good.”

“I’ve certainly met worse,” Yuuri muttered.

“She’ll loosen up a bit once you get to know her,” Gin assured him, “it takes a while to gain her trust.”

“I don’t have awhile,” he told her, “I’m only here for a week at most. I can’t afford to spend months and months here.”

“I see, you’ve got better things to do,” Gin drolled.

“It’s nothing personal,” Yuuri said, “it’s just…my Unit’s on another case. There’s no one running point for me.”

“And it’s not like you can trust Jaxon to do shit,” Gin muttered.

“Exactly,” Yuuri agreed.

He adds ‘punch Jaxon in the kidney’ to his To Do list.

“He’s a decent boss,” Gin said, “he’s just…”

“A bit of a dick?” Yuuri suggested and Gin laughed.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said, “I just thought you weren’t taking this as serious as I was. I’ve been embedded here for so long, it felt like ‘what’s the point if fucking Hunter won’t listen’ you know?”

“I get it,” Yuuri sighed, “Believe me, I do.”

Gin allows him the use of her hair products and her shower to make himself presentable before he leaves for his first shift at the club. Bea isn’t at all impressed by his showing up a whole sixty seconds early and introduces him to one of the other waitstaff.

“Don’t let the newbie fuck too much shit up,” Bea instructed Andrea, the waitress assigned to orient him, before taking her glass of whiskey and sweeping off to finish opening the club.

Andrea gets him a uniform and then gives him a tour, “Obviously, this is where we get changed.” She gestures to the locker room where several other staff are in the process of getting ready for work. “Staff bathrooms are through here. I’ll show you the guest bathrooms later.” She shows him where Bea’s office is before leading him out into the empty club. The tables are numbered, and the sections are given letters. “The VIP section is usually split between four of us, two tables each,” Andrea explains.

Patrons don’t start trickling in until eight and around ten the dance floor starts to fill with people. Yuuri bounces between tables, heavily relying on his notepad to remember which table ordered what and growing more grateful for Andrea’s patience.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he comes back from delivering a tray full of shots. The Catbeast is on edge and her eyes flick over his shoulder. He follows her gaze to a newcomer who’s just handed off their coat at the door and is crossing the floor, making a very clear B-line for the VIP table in their assigned section.

“Who’s that?” he murmured.

“ _That_ is bad news,” Andrea murmured back, “Stay far away if you know what’s good for you.” there’s a healthy fear in her eyes as she follows Yuuri’s gaze to watch the high roller cross the club floor.

Math has never been his strong suit – he majored in biology and minored in linguistics, you don’t really need to know math for those – but he can still put two and two together.

The newcomer walks with an easy swagger that reminds him of Victor…if Victor were an ice sculpture brought to life. Ice blonde hair is trimmed into a classy fade at the back and sides, while the longer hair on top is casually coifed. He’s easily the most beautiful person in the room. The watch on the kingpin’s wrist glitters even in the dim lighting and Yuuri can tell that it easily costs more than a month’s rent on his Tokyo apartment. He has a look and aura that says he couldn’t give less of a damn about anything or anyone, and Yuuri gets chills (not the good kind) just looking at him.

He’d bet money that the man who just sank easily into the first booth in their section is Frown.

Andrea sends him over to take their orders and he suddenly feels like he’s walking in time to his death march.

It’s hard to tell exactly what color Frown’s pale eyes are in the dim of the alcove, but his gaze is still terrifyingly frosty. Yuuri gets the insane urge to tighten his hold on his glamour but resists only to focus on taking their orders and maintaining his façade. One of Frown’s cronies is sliding a hand up Yuuri’s thigh whilst grinning lecherously.

“You must be new here,” he says.

“I, um,” Yuuri stammers, “it’s my first day.”

“Really?” he says, and his grin becomes an outright leer, “How’s about I give you a proper welcome then, eh?”

“I really should be getting back to work,” Yuuri tries to smile politely and carefully extricate himself without offending the mob grunt. Frown lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Dmitri that’s enough.” The hand gives his thigh one last squeeze before withdrawing. “You’ll have to forgive me,” Frown says flatly, “it seems I still have a few lessons to teach about manners.”

“I’ll have those drinks right out for you,” Yuuri stiffens his spine and walks away.

He gives the order to Jo – the bartender – who gives him a sympathetic look as he starts to prepare the drinks. Andrea doesn’t look at all remorseful for throwing him to the wolves, instead telling him that now he knows to stand well out of reach of Dmitri’s grabby hands.

“Is he like that with…everyone?”

“Everyone,” Andrea said, her features colored with distaste, “Dmitri would fuck a box of nails if it had a decent arse and a hole big enough for his prick.”

“Good to know,” Yuuri muttered, he sneaks a glance at the table where Frown and his two companions sit, “I wonder why that guy keeps him around.”

“Hm?”

“Blonde guy? Clearly the boss?” Yuuri said, “Why does he keep Dmitri around?”

“I don’t ask questions,” Andrea sighed, stacking shots on a tray as they slide across the bar top, “I just give them their vodka and move on.”

She pays him back for being too inquisitive by making him help other staff cover their sections. He takes orders, he cleans tables, and his feet are absolutely killing him at the end of the night.

“Second lesson you learn here, newbie,” Andrea says when they’re in the locker room, getting changed out of their uniform, “don’t step on the high rollers’ toes. You give them what they want, you keep your mouth shut, and move on with your life.” she gives the locker a punctuating slam, hikes her bag over her shoulder and leaves.

He’s at the very edge of his endurance when he manages to make it back to Gin’s apartment without getting ridiculously lost. She’s waiting up, sitting on the couch watching old cartoons on TV and cradling a bowl filled to the brim with cheap sugar cereal.

“How’d it go?” she asked around a mouthful when he bumps the door shut behind him.

“I didn’t blow my cover,” Yuuri lets the glamour fade, “so there’s that.”

He conjures a pair of pajamas and he feels a pang in his chest when the smell of the laundry detergent makes him long for curling up with Victor and Makkachin. Missing Victor is an ache that he grew somewhat accustomed to over nearly twelve weeks of being in deep cover in Bratislava, but after getting to see and touch him and then wake up beside him, it’s like the ache is renewed all over again. 

_It’s only a week_ , he reminds himself.

“Want some?” Gin asked, brandishing her bowl of cereal.

“Sure,” Yuuri sighed.

She had clearly anticipated this because she has an empty bowl and clean spoon waiting. She pours him a generous helping of cereal and douses it with milk from the jug within easy reach of her spot on the couch, before handing him the bowl.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. It’s not the best thing he’s ever tasted but at least it has chocolate.

“So, what’s Frown like?” Gin asked.

“You’ve never met him?”

“Nah. I’m too low on the totem pole. My customer base only just started getting up there, maybe, four months ago?” Gin said, “I ain’t got connections like you think I got. It’s fucking stupid how corporate this shit is. The more you sell, the better you deal, the higher up you get. And _maybe_ you’ll get to lick the boots of one of his trusty subordinates.”

In Bratislava he’d only been trusted with small amounts of Focus at a time to minimize losses in case he couldn’t sell by the end of the week. They’d keep an obnoxiously close eye on the supply, and it made it damn hard to get a sample to the lab and confirm their suspicion that demonic minerals were being used in its production.

“I don’t think you _want_ to meet his underlings,” Yuuri says, “One of them is total pervert.”

Her nose wrinkles when he tells her about Dmitri and his shameless behavior with the club staff and how Frown had come to his rescue (sort of) but only after Dmitri had gotten more than a handful.

“Shame you couldn’t break his fingers,” Gin said flatly, “I probably would’ve.”

“I wanted to. I’m not sure how Frown would’ve reacted if I did,” Yuuri said, poking at his cereal with his spoon, “He didn’t seem like he’d care, to be perfectly honest. I think he only intervened because he was getting impatient and wanted his top shelf booze.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Gin says dryly, “Kingpin drug dealing criminal is an arsehole. What a surprise.” She stretches her arms above her head and stands with her empty bowl, “You finished?”

He slurps down the rest of it, the milk settling heavy in his belly and he hands her the empty bowl with murmured thanks. She sets the dishes in the sink and then pads off to bed, “Get some sleep, ‘cause you get to do it all again tomorrow night.”

She’s left folded blankets and a pillow for him on the couch. The whole thing creaks ominously and it’s far too short for him to stretch out comfortably, his bare feet poking out over the arm and his toes dangle in mid-air. Shifting his weight in just the wrong way means one of the springs punches him straight in the kidney when he rolls over and his back will certainly hate him in the morning.

It’s a miracle he manages to fall asleep at all, startling awake sometime around noon when the upstairs tenants have a very loud and aggressive lover’s spat. His brain is too tired to translate German into Japanese and comprehend what they could possibly be arguing about at this time of day. He cracks open an eye, his vision blurry from not wearing his glasses and he leans up just enough to draw a Ward sequence on the wall to insulate the walls against incoming sound. It’s not entirely seamless like it would’ve been had he been awake enough to rub more than just two of his brain cells together, but it’ll do.

He closes his eyes, attempting to pretend that he’s back in St. Petersburg – or better yet, in Tokyo where there’s less of a chance of the phone ringing and disturbing the quiet mornings he’s come to covet – rolls right over and that damn spring promptly punches him in the other kidney.

The apartment is quieter than it was five minutes ago, and he’s fairly certain that Gin isn’t awake yet. He crawls off the couch, grimacing as he stretches and his spine pops. A quick venture in the kitchen tells him there aren’t many options but it’s better than eating cereal again.

Gin doesn’t emerge from her room even when he knows the smell of eggs and sausages must be creeping through the apartment by now and he settles on the floor – not the cursed couch – with his portion to watch TV and eat.

He chews slowly, loneliness descending upon him like a murder of crows and he misses Victor intensely. He hopes his co-Captain is eating properly and getting the appropriate amount of sleep. He takes comfort in the fact that Mila will most definitely kick Victor’s ass if he neglects to take care of himself while Yuuri is away, but also hopes that it doesn’t come to that.

Gin plops onto the couch with her plate, startling him out of his thoughts and she slurps up the eggs and gnaws hungrily on the sausage. “Thanks for breakfast,” she tacks on like an afterthought, “Been awhile since I had a man cook for me.”

“Do you have anyone?” he asked tentatively, “A significant other?”

“No,” she said, “no one like that. Good thing too. I couldn’t do this if I had someone. I’d miss them too much.”

 _That’s right_. Werewolves and their deep attachments to their chosen mates…his chest tightens, and he looks down at his plate, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Um, if you’re still hungry you can have mine,” he offers, “I’m full.”

“Sweet,” Gin whistled, scooping the remains of Yuuri’s breakfast onto her plate and devouring that too.

There’s not much for him to do while waiting for his shift at the club. He’d be playing with fire trying to get a message to his Unit after the first day, and he feels like he should wait a little longer. He needs more than this before he lets Victor persuade him to leave the job behind.

Gin goes out before he does, her jeans have giant holes in the knees and her hoodie is clean but well-worn.

He wonders what she does with the cash now that she’s in a new league of her own.

Yuuri arrives at the club at five-fifty and Andrea hardly acknowledges him while nimble feline fingers do up the buttons her uniform shirt. She closes her locker before he finishes buttoning his shirt, “Bea's waiting for you in her office. She wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay.”

He couldn’t possibly understand what Bea would want unless it’s to tell him he did such a terrible job on his first day that she has no choice but to fire him.

Bea’s office is small and reeks of cigars and cheap nicotine. A crystal decanter full of what is undoubtedly an expensive whiskey sits on her desk and she sits in a high-backed chair. The vampire boss lady herself sits at her desk with an unlit cigarette between her lips as she counts out change from the drawer, even though he has yet to see anybody pay for their drinks here with cash.

“Close the door,” she says and Yuuri quietly obeys before standing in front of her desk. He watches her light the cigarette, the end glowing a bright orange, “Is it true that Dmitri put his hands on you last night?”

“Yes.” There’s a tic in Bea’s jaw and she hisses smoke between her fangs. “Um…am I in trouble?”

She gives him a weird look, “Why would you be in trouble when that scum _knows_ damn well he’s to keep his hands off my staff?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri mumbled, keeping his eyes down. Bea clicks her tongue.

“This ain’t that kind of establishment, kid,” she says, “We keep it clean here. If you’re in the business of turning tricks, you do it elsewhere.” He flushes at the implication that he could ever be a prostitute. “Something like this happens again you tell me. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Back to work.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbles and leaves her office. The smell of nicotine clings to his clothes and he breathes out a sigh, before straightening his tie, and going to find Andrea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up a month late with Starbucks* 'Sup? 
> 
> I can't tell you how glad I am that this is _finally_ finished. You know when you've got that major gap between idea and execution and all you can do is [insert frustrated pterodactyl screech]? You know? 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated! <3


	6. I’m Victor, I’m 52, and I Never Learned How to Fuckin’ Read

_October 2024; European Branch Headquarters Medward - Ottawa_

Georgi bursts into hiccupping pathetic sobs the moment they leave the waiting room and Mila gives Victor a pointed look as she tries to console the analyst. He doesn’t know what she expects him to do, Mila _knows_ he’ll only make it worse.

“There there, Gosha,” she sooths, “Yuri will be alright. He’s tough as nails. You’ll see.”

“I know,” Georgi sniffled, “Seems like yesterday he was just about to graduate…”

“Now he’s all grown up and getting himself into real trouble,” Mila said fondly, “the little stinker.”

“He’s not all that little anymore,” Victor mumbled, thinking about how the last time he’d seen the former intern almost three months ago he’d been taller than Yuuri when they were both sitting down. The bratty teenager had grown up some into a slightly-less-bratty Exorcist. 

“Don’t worry, mama,” Mila said, putting her arm around Georgi and giving him a comforting squeeze, “He’ll pull through.”

Victor takes them back to St. Petersburg, opening up a Portal to Georgi’s apartment, “I know we’ve had a rather…dismal morning, but try and get some more rest?”

“Aye aye,” Mila salutes and heads for the door. Georgi just sags and trudges off to his bedroom.

Makkachin is still sound asleep when Victor gets back to his own flat, spread out at the foot of the mattress with his pale tummy on display. Victor chortles and takes a picture, before he crawls into bed. The poodle lets out an annoyed chuff at being disturbed and flops over onto his side with a doggy sigh.

Victor doesn’t manage to sleep much despite being absolutely exhausted. He’s awake before his alarm goes off and he takes the pouting poodle on his morning walk.

“I know you miss him,” he tells Makkachin, “I do too.”

He’s going to use this as proof of Yuuri being the favorite.

They stop by the grocery store on the way back home and he leaves Makkachin outside while he pops in to grab the few things he’d forgotten on his last trip. He’ll have to make another so that Yuuri comes home to a well-stocked fridge. There’s also that slowly growing pile of laundry he’s been putting off…

“I should cook something for him,” Victor muses, then looks down at Makkachin, “what do you think?”

The poodle sneezes.

“Well, you’re no help,” Victor mumbles.

He sees the car parked illegally on the curb in front of his apartment building before he sees the butler. Zebulon would hardly be noteworthy in this area of St. Petersburg where the wealthy tend to buy the more modern upscale homes. But his old-fashioned formal dress, the fact that he’s not wearing a coat, and the shiny vintage Lincoln garner a few curious glances from passersby.

Victor glances at the heavily tinted backseat windows but there’s no hint of his uncle being inside. Makkachin shies away from the butler, hiding behind Victor’s legs.

“Is he here?” Victor asked. 

“Master Nikiforov had other business to attend to.” The vampire must be having a particularly bad day; he sounds like an asthmatic chain-smoker and there’s very little color in his face. “My list of errands for today included delivering this.”

Victor takes the envelope and arches an eyebrow, “You know we have a mailbox?”

“The Master was very specific in his instructions,” Zebulon rasps, then bows sharply, “Good day, Young Master.”

Victor scoffs and looks down at Makkachin when the butler has gotten into the car and driven off, “Come on, Makka. Let’s go inside.”

He throws the envelope onto the island and leaves it there while he unloads the groceries into the fridge and freezer. Makkachin is curled up on his big fluffy bed in the living room and continues to sulk even when Victor adds a generous scoop of tuna to his food bowl.

Victor sighs and walks away, pointedly ignoring the envelope in the middle of the kitchen island. He doesn’t have to open it to know his uncle is cashing his raincheck.

By the time he gets out of the shower, there’s a missed call from Yakov (with his usual angry voicemail that Victor most definitely does not open) and an unread text from his beloved lieutenant. He swipes to remove the missed call notification from his screen and opens Mila’s text.

Milochka   
  
Wake up loser. We’re getting breakfast. 10a. Don’t be late.

He eyes the combat gear he has bundled in the top dresser drawer. He’d revised his earlier plans for a Hunt into a reconnaissance stint only, realizing that Mila and Georgi will be distracted after this morning. The work will keep them all occupied and perhaps they can _finally_ figure out what they’re going to do about the recruits.

Mila’s already at their usual table at the café they like to frequent, but Georgi is nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, my lovely lieutenant,” Victor greets her.

“Nothin’ good about it,” she snorts, “Yakov is salty as fuck.”

“Is he now?” Victor said cheerfully, “I hadn’t noticed.” The waitress sets down a cappuccino – his usual – in front of him and he picks it up with a quiet ‘thanks’. “Really, I’m surprised I only had the one missed call. What did he say?”

“Dunno. I didn’t pick up,” Mila shrugged a shoulder.

“I’m a terrible influence on you,” Victor tutted, “What have I done? I’ve corrupted my lieutenant-“

Mila rolled her eyes, “You’re giving yourself _way_ too much credit.”

“He always does,” Georgi interjected with a sigh, plopping down into his chair, “What did I miss?”

“We were just about to discuss what we’re going to do about the fetuses,” Mila said.

“We were?” Victor blinked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mila emphasized, “We were. Come on, Victor, we can’t just keep putting this off.”

“Of course, you’re right,” Victor said, “So, what did you have in mind?”

“First of all,” Mila held up a finger, “did you read their files?”

“I…glanced at them,” Victor said. Mila gives him a withering look and Georgi just sighs.

“It’s a miracle we get anything done with you at the helm,” Mila said.

“That’s what I have you guys for,” Victor said cheerfully, prompting an eyeroll from Mila, “Anyway, there wasn’t much to read about. I know full well how green they are, which is why I’m concerned.”

“Nekola spent a year as a bookie already, so he’s got basic protocol down but I’m more concerned about the chicken nugget,” Mila said, “Minami just graduated in the summer.”

“The Japanese EP includes field exercises for their seniors,” Victor said, “but, you’re right, he won’t be used to not having a safety net. Which is why, we start him off slow. We’ll have Nekola assist with the focus investigation. Minami will be on reconnaissance detail until we see for ourselves how adept he is at combat.”

“It’s a start,” Mila sighed, then leaned back in her seat, “What next, O Fearless Leader?”

“We’re doing a bit of recon ourselves,” Victor said.

Barcelona is one of the six major convergence points in Europe – the presence of the Fae is a little bit stronger here than in most cities due to the thinner veil between their world and Earth. A dryad stands outside a pop-up shop, advertising a special tea blend and further down the street is a nixie handing out fliers. Their smiles become strained when they spot the trio, their eyes lingering for a beat too long before they go back to enticing potential customers.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Mila asked.

“Anything out of the ordinary,” Victor said.

With Yuuri gone they can’t split up to cover more ground. He’d open up his senses a little, but in a city this big and dense he’ll give himself a whopping headache in little over an hour.

He doesn’t think he’ll need it anyway.

A lot of the supernatural businesses have posted amended hours in the windows. Some of them have blatantly posted the hours – scribbled in Sharpie – and duct-taped it to the doors or windows over their more ‘official’ sticker.

All of them close before the sun goes down.

“Come on,” Victor urges, “I think I need another caffeine fix.”

There’s a tiny little faerie-owned shop on the next street over that sells adorable pastries and delicious drinks. The sprite behind the counter pops up from fixing the display case to chirp out a cheerful greeting but his smile becomes strained when he sees the Tags.

“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” Victor assures the sprite, “I heard the hot chocolate was really good here.”

He doesn’t relax much, even when they order and wait patiently for their drinks. The shop is conspicuously empty and quiet even though it’s that time of day where everybody and their grandmother is in the mood for a caffeinated something. When Victor reaches across the counter to grab his drink, he murmurs, “How bad has it gotten?”

“Sunset is just as dangerous as the nighttime now,” the sprite answered, he looks shifty like he’ll catch hell if he’s caught talking to them. “We reached out at the start, but the government told us we were making stuff up. Now they’re just ignoring us.”

Victor sighs, “I was afraid of that.”

In the IMC’s bid to prevent global panic they’ve elected to downplay the problem when communities raise complaints and instead secretly push the issue onto the Agency.

Victor wonders why he continues to contribute to the damn bureaucracy when it’s so fucking inefficient. 

Mila leans casually on the pastry case, sipping daintily at her Frappuccino, “We’re working on it,” she confides to the sprite, “Hang in there.”

“And thank you,” Victor holds up his multi-colored drink, “it’s delicious.”

The silence from his cohorts is thick and he can tell they’re thinking the same things he is. He’s glad he pushed Lilia to give him carte blanche for this one.

“Am I the only one who feels like I’m missing something?” Mila said, “Or am I just the dumb one, for once?”

“No, we’re totally missing something,” Georgi said, “Wait, who’s usually the dumb one?”

Mila just sighs and Georgi looks confused.

“Someone’s not telling us everything,” Victor said, “and I’m pretty sure it rhymes with ‘volition’.”

“Better put on our tin foil hats,” Mila joked.

“I…think he’s serious,” Georgi said slowly, “Victor, are you serious?”

“I’m always serious, Gosha,” Victor said. His colleagues exchange a look.

“What exactly do you think is happening here?” Mila asked, “I can’t see the government purposefully infesting the world with demon spawn.”

“Well, no,” Victor said, “but, I do think they’re involved somehow. The IMC flat-out ignoring whole communities crying out for help for an obvious problem is…suspicious.”

“I would use the word ‘dickish’,” Mila said, “But, that’s just my personal preference.”

“Victor,” Georgi sounds nervous, “we’re not saying you’re wrong-“ he looks at Mila for back-up who makes the universal gesture for ‘so-so’ with her hand while slurping loudly at her drink, “we’re saying you _can’t_ be wrong. Not about this. We could lose our Tags if we go digging.”

“It’s perfectly fine if you’re not willing to take that risk,” Victor said, “And you don’t have to worry. I want to run this by Yuuri first.”

“Oh, thank gods,” Mila sagged, “He’d murder us if we let you go chasing down a government conspiracy.”

Victor laughs, “Don’t be silly, Mila. Yuuri’s not capable of murder.”

Mila gives him an odd look, “Have you _met_ your boyfriend?”

Victor sighs and he thinks of Yuuri expertly swinging his katana, or firing a gun, or doing that thing where he sweeps his hair back out of his eyes…

“Mm, in the biblical sense and many many others,” Victor says dreamily.

“I think we’re losing him,” Georgi said.

“Fuck it,” Mila sighed, “Let’s just go.”

“I miss him,” Victor lamented.

“We know, buddy,” Mila patted his arm, “Now shut up and drink your coffee.”

They find the situation isn’t much better in Dublin. The Fae presence here is outright muffled and it looks like some supernatural businesses have temporarily closed down altogether.

“Victor…” Mila has hung back at the mouth of an alleyway next to an apothecary that’s boarded its windows and placed strong wards on the door. He backtracks to stand next to her, following her line of sight and his eyes linger on the scorch marks.

“Oh, my gods,” Georgi breathed.

They’re possibly the largest he’s ever seen. The bricks appear to look like they’ve simply been dusted with soot but trying to scrub off the black will prove impossible. Victor steps over the bright orange caution tape, prompting a hissed warning from his colleagues.

“I swear if you touch them…” Mila threatened.

“I won’t,” Victor assured her, “I just want a better look.” He snaps several pictures with his phone, the flash throwing the warped brick and mortar into sharp relief.

“It almost looks like finger marks,” he muses. It reminds him of someone raking their hands through soft clay and his gut twists with dread. If there’s a Class Five in this city, it would explain a lot about the fear that has absolutely soured the supernatural environment here. Victor suppresses a curse and turns away from the marks, stepping back over the tape and showing Mila and Georgi the photos.

“Am I looking at what I think I’m looking at?” Mila said.

“I sincerely hope not,” Victor said, “the marks are old. It’s likely a Unit has already taken care of it, but-“ he gestures to the boarded up businesses and the shrinking presence of the magical community, “I somehow doubt that’s the case.”

They’re missing a member and the two recruits they’re supposed to orient tomorrow are too green to be useful. A Hunt right now would be grueling, and their chance of success slim. 

The sun is already starting to set, and they beat it out of Ireland before they can get caught up in the hellish (er, pun sort of intended) nightlife.

“We can’t just leave it as is,” Mila said, turning to face Victor as they cross back into St. Petersburg, “Reporting it isn’t enough.”

“Well, if we’re going to kill it, we have to do it before next week,” Georgi said.

“Next week?” Victor and Mila frown at the analyst who heaves a long-suffering sigh and fixes them both with a withering look.

“Halloween?”

 _Fuck_.

He’d almost forgotten.

They have four more days until Yuuri gets back, which gives them four days to prepare and orient the two greenhorns for their first real high-stakes Hunt.

Four days in which _absolutely nothing_ can go wrong.

No pressure.

“I think you broke him, Gosha,” Mila says, poking Victor’s shoulder.

“It is not my fault that you guys forgot about one of the deadliest nights of the year,” Georgi protested.

“How could I forget about Halloween?” Mila scoffed, “Halloween was literally made for me. See?” she opens her mouth and lifts her upper lip to show off her fangs.

Victor rubs at the space between his eyebrows in a vain effort to keep his stress from manifesting into a migraine.

“Okay,” he says, cutting their bickering off at the knees, “we need a contingency plan.”

“And that’ll be…?” Mila prompted.

“I’m not sure yet,” Victor admitted, “but we can’t Hunt a Class Five when we’re one man down.”

 _Especially not on Halloween_ , he thinks.

_“WHO YOU GONNA CALL? GHOSTBUSTERS!”_

“Okay,” Mila said, “You need to change his ringtone. It stopped being funny years ago.”

“It’s still a little bit funny,” Georgi said, his lip twitching into a tentative smile and Mila looks at him.

“No.”

“Oh, _now_ he decides to answer!” Yakov shouts on the other end, “ _Now_ he decides! Where are you?”

“Hm…guess,” Victor smiled. He can practically hear Yakov turning purple on the other end of the line. That vein in his forehead making its disturbing appearance as the old Warlock gets more apoplectic.

“You’re supposed to be orienting your new Unit members!” Yakov shouted, Victor held the phone away from his face, “Instead, you’re off gallivanting about Europe!”

“Come now, Yakov,” Victor said, “You don’t know that I’m gallivanting. I can assure you; we’ve been very productive today.”

“Oh really? And what could be more productive than orienting your charges?” Yakov demanded.

“You gave us a job to do,” Victor reminded him, “we can’t very well do that without gathering intel. The fetuses will be brought up to speed in time, don’t you worry your shiny head.”

‘Shiny?’ Mila mouthed at him, ‘Really?’

Victor just smiled at her and hung up.

“He’s not going to like that,” Georgi said.

“Yakov doesn’t like a lot of things. He’s not in charge here,” Victor said, “Lilia gave us the reins, so we’ll do as we see fit.”

As Victor had predicted, the situation in Berlin isn’t much better and the air is fraught with tension on the east side. Despite the fact that their Tags are all hidden away and they’re in plainclothes, they still get looks that become more and more hostile as they cross into the seedier parts of the city. Nobody outright threatens them, but it’s very very clear that they’re absolutely not welcome.

“Talk about a tough crowd,” Mila murmured, as they pass a nightclub where the bouncer’s glamoured horns are decorated with elaborate carvings and jewelry. She flashes him a smile, and the satyr’s lip curls in just the barest hint of a snarl.

“Don’t antagonize the locals,” Georgi admonished.

“Buzzkill,” Mila murmured back, “Come _on_ , I’m sick of this passive aggressive bullshit. I wish one of these assholes would just come up and swing.” She cracks her knuckles.

“You’ll get your chance,” Victor assured her. They come to a stop at the busy intersection, waiting for the light to change so they can cross. Mila wrinkles her nose and he spots the reason not six feet from them – a woman leaning up against the dirty little corner store with a cigarette between her fingers. The bright red ember at the end glows as she takes a drag, her eyes raking over each of them – curious, but not hostile. Her long bright pink hair is braided into two plaits flat against her skull and the clothes she’s wearing aren’t suitable for the cooler weather, exposing a lot of smooth brown skin.

“Ugh,” Mila grumbled, “Werewolves.”

The woman gives Mila a cheeky wink and the signal finally changes. They cross the street and the she-wolf is soon out of sight.

It’s safe to stay that Victor has seen quite enough of Berlin, even before the sun starts to sink a little lower in the sky. Victor takes Makkachin on a truncated evening walk before it gets too dark and they’re safely ensconced in the apartment before the streetlights flicker on.

The next morning, he meets Mila and Georgi at the Starbucks down the street from HQ.

“Mila, please,” Georgi complains just as Victor sidles up to join them, “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Better get used to it. Motherhood is a battlefield,” Mila patted him on the shoulder.

“Why are you like this?” Georgi asked.

“You two are awfully lively this morning,” Victor commented.

“I don’t feel lively,” Georgi sighed, “I feel like I need to sleep for another six hours.”

“That’s because you’re working too much, Gosha,” Mila said, “You should relax a little more.”

“I thought I could once Charlie came back from paternity leave,” Georgi said, “But then _this_ happened.”

“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” Victor asked, ripping the paper off his straw and taking a deep gratifying sip of his cold brew.

“It’s a habit,” Georgi grumbled, “Every time something happens it’s usually your fault.”

“I resent that,” Victor said.

The first thing Victor sees when they get to their office is _yellow_.

 _Ah, I understand where the ‘chicken nugget’ thing came from_.

The obnoxiousness of Minami Kenjirou’s hair has been renewed in the few days since Victor’s seen it. His brain had helpfully shielded him from the memory of seeing the bad dye job, but now he was going to have to get used to seeing it indefinitely.

Emil Nekola looks like tired middle-aged man compared to the vibrant eighteen-year-old next to him, despite only being a year and a half older. He’s wearing his new department-issued jacket, the skull and two crossed scythes of HUNTER freshly embroidered in clean white thread on the right shoulder. Minami is also wearing his department-issued jacket but over a blazer, slacks, and a crisply pressed dress shirt.

 _Better get this over with_.

Introductions are awkward when you already know each other’s names.

“Kenjirou Minami, reporting for duty, Captain Nikiforov, sir!” Minami squeaks, his saluting arm trembling as he vibrates with excitement – or is it fear? Victor can’t tell with this kid – and Mila (bless her heart) interrupts before Minami can continue.

“We don’t need your rank and registration number, kid,” she says.

“Oh,” Minami blinked.

“Emil Nekola, also reporting for duty,” Emil fills in the awkward silence, but he immediately looks sheepish, “Er, was that alright, sir?”

“It’s…fine,” Victor eyes them both.

He’s never been so confused in his life.

Not even puberty confused him this much.

Where is the fear and resentment? Where is the mutiny? He’d been putting this off largely because he’d expected two fresh recruits to treat him like he’s some kind of monster right off the bat when he hasn’t murdered anyone (without due cause) for nearly thirty-five years.

“You guys should smile more,” Mila declared, “It’ll be good for you.” she thumps them both on the shoulders and they’re clearly taken aback by her strength. “Mila Babicheva, femme fatale and tech wizard,” she strikes a pose, “This is Georgi, he’s our medic and primary voice of reason.” Georgi smiles and waves at the two newbies. “You already know our esteemed commander,” she gestures to Victor who manages to smile beatifically. “Now that introductions are over, it’s work time. Let’s go.”

Victor makes a mental note to buy her that videogame she wanted.

They’re given a cursory tour of the office and Mila has them take two desks and shove them a little closer to where the veterans sit. None of them had the foresight to drag the smartboard out of its little corner and calibrate it, but Mila does that while Georgi helps them find the login credentials for their tablets.

“ _Don’t lose that password_ ,” Georgi emphasized seriously, “or Mila will punish you.” the brief haunted look in his eyes gets twin expressions of concern. Emil and Minami both look at the vampire whose fist makes an audible sound when she sinks it into the palm of her opposing hand, and Victor can see a healthy amount of fear blooming in their eyes.

“Now then,” Victor says cheerfully, “Shall we?” he gestures sweepingly to the smartboard behind him. “This Unit has two pending investigations. The first is a joint venture with the OSC.”

“A new drug has been surfacing in several communities throughout the continent,” Mila hits a button, showing the map the OSC so helpfully provided for them, “the OSC had a working theory that someone was somehow harvesting demonic materials and using them as a base for the latest and greatest drug.”

“It’s got a few names,” Georgi added, “Mainly, it seems to go by ‘focus’.”

“Our member in deep cover believes the name comes from the drug’s common ability to heighten the senses,” Mila continued, “Samples run through the lab definitely confirm the use of materials that can’t be found naturally in this dimension to synthesize and make the drug.”

“We’re currently trying to track down the manufacturer,” Victor finished, “the main distributor has been apprehended, but until we find out who the manufacturer is and their methods, this case remains open. You should already have access to the case file.”

“Any questions?” Mila asked. Emil opened his mouth, but she railroaded on, “Good. Now, what we’re about to discuss doesn’t leave this room.” 

The map of Europe showing demonic incidents is a little more red than last time, “Each of these dots, is a reported demonic incident. Whether it be a sighting or an attack,” Victor pointed.

Minami’s eyes widen at the sight of all that red while Emil frowns.

“Is…it supposed to look like that?” Minami asked, shakily raising his hand.

“Good question!” Victor said pleasantly, “It is not. Our job is to find out why the infestation is happening and report to the Director. Any more questions?” Emil and Minami both open their mouths, the latter raising his hand straight up in the air again. “Good! Let’s get started!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That list y'all asked for should be up on my tumblr [@istoleyourshoelaces](url). I've debated posting other outtakes as well as other worldbuilding tidbits. If you're curious about how I have so much free time to come up with this stuff (plot twist: I don't) I have a very bad habit called 'lucid daydreaming when I'm supposed to be doing important stuff'. 
> 
> I imagine Victor's Uncle Vasily owns and has Zebulon drive a 1966 Lincoln Continental (with white wall tires) because reasons. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated! <3


	7. Fake Laugh, Hiding Real Pain

_October 2024; Nikiforovskoye_

Everything looks bleak and gray, covered in a thin layer of fog and he’s grateful for the Wards on his jacket shielding him from the sharp morning chill. At the edge of the property, everything looks completely shrouded but as he walks a little further the features of the house gain a little more clarity.

The estate looks much the same as it did when he was a child. A chateau style mansion lays tucked away in the thick of the woods at the end of a long narrow driveway and at the center of the courtyard is a large ornate perpetually dry fountain with the three Moirai standing at the very top of the stone structure. Clotho faced the driveway, welcoming visitors with her distaff in her right hand and the spindle dangling from her left. Facing the door are the other two sisters – Lachesis and Atropos – the former with her measuring rod directing the latter where to cut. He’s heard some visitors say they can see the string being passed around the three stone sisters as they come in or as they exit.

Victor circled the fountain, hardly sparing a glance for the familiar Lincoln parked out front and ascended the front steps. He can smell the roses from the two luxuriously large, painstakingly maintained bushes bordering the front door. Zebulon is waiting for him before he even reaches the top step.

“I see you left the light on for me,” Victor said, sweeping past the butler.

“May I take your coat, young master?” Zebulon asked.

“I’ll keep it, thanks,” Victor said, “I don’t intend to stay for long.”

“Very well, sir,” Zebulon shut the door, “The Master is waiting for you in the dining room.”

Victor sighs, “Fine. You’re looking much better.”

“Thank you, sir,” Zebulon replied sedately.

The private room where he and his uncle took part in meals together three times a day is more subtle and far more spartan than the grandiose dining room used for hosting. The table is smaller – only seating six people at most – with his uncle taking the high-backed chair at the head of it. There are no decorations here save for the blue Persian rug covering most of the floor. Vasily is sitting in the high-backed chair at the head of the table, sipping delicately on a mimosa. There’s a plate in front of him with a mostly eaten slice of quiche.

“You missed dinner last night,” Vasily said, “What’s the point of wearing that watch if you’re not going to show up to things?”

“I had other business to attend to, uncle,” Victor said, pulling out a chair and preparing to take a seat, “Let’s get this over with-“

“Take that silly costume off first,” Vasily flicks a hand lazily at Victor’s department-issued jacket bearing HUNTER’s skull and crossed scythes in blazing Captain’s red on his right arm. His jacket that Zebulon is now holding. The asthmatic butler bows and takes his leave.

“That was unnecessary,” Victor says.

“As long as you insist on keeping up this ruse of a law-abiding citizen, I’ll have to disagree,” Vasily replied flatly.

Victor snorted, “Denial isn’t a pretty look for you, uncle.”

“I could say the same for you, _nephew_.”

Victor couldn’t stop the eyeroll if he wanted to, “What do you want?” he sighed, “You send my mother as a liaison after almost forty years and then you kidnap my boyfriend. Honestly, haven’t you ever heard of email? I also have a phone-“

“I gave you plenty enough time to come out of this rebellious phase on your own,” Vasily said, “It became rather clear to me that you wouldn’t.”

“For gods’ sake. This isn’t a phase-“

“Of course, it is,” Vasily railroaded, waving off his protests with a lazy flick of his hand, “Why else would you run off and become a glorified mercenary without any real intention of persecuting us? If you have a reasonable explanation, I’d be glad to be enlightened.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was just bored?” Victor said.

“If you were bored it was your own fault, nephew,” Vasily told him, “You’re a man grown now.”

“I _like_ what I do now,” Victor insisted, “I have my own life where I call the shots. _Why_ would I give that up just to be a slave to the whims of the family and what’s best for business?”

“Because I will it so,” Vasily said.

It’s the same look Victor used to get when he would say, ‘I can’t.’ when his arms ached from carrying the rifle, or when he was exhausted from being kept awake for days at a time. That look meant his uncle was immovable.

Victor wonders how different his life would’ve been if he hadn’t manifested at all. He’d probably be running some scheme with his brothers, or maybe he’d have gone to university and had a somewhat respectable life. Being in this mansion reminds him that from the moment he accidentally made it rain in his living room, his future was chosen for him. Still, he has to be civil, no matter how much he wants to raze the entire estate to the ground.

“You do know you could choose someone else?” Victor said wearily, “As large as the clan is-“

“None are my protegee,” Vasily interrupted, “Few have the same potential.”

“Potential,” Victor scoffed.

“Do you honestly think you’d be happy long term as an Exorcist? You will never be accepted, no matter how many monsters you slay, no matter how much you pretend to be the obedient dog and play by their rules, you will _always_ be a Nikiforov,” Vasily said coldly, “Your attempts to fit into their outdated mold will prove to be fruitless. If not now, then soon.”

“Is this your attempt at winning me over?” Victor snorted, “You would not make a good salesman-“

“It is time for you to come home, Vitya,” Vasily railroaded, “The Agency is redundant, and the coalition cowers in fear from a monster of their own creation. I will not sit idly by while your skills are wasted on serving a corrupt institution.”

“You’re one to talk about corruption,” Victor snorted, “You’re the head of a crime syndicate.”

“I respected the coalition for their certitude. Now,” Vasily’s mouth twists, “now even that is gone.”

“Where are you getting all this information from?” Victor narrowed his eyes, “Just how many moles do you have?”

Vasily simply sips at his mimosa and doesn’t say a damn thing.

Victor’s watch quietly vibrates with a notification and he frowns as he checks it.

Emil  
  
Please help.

Victor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to stave off another headache. 

“Trouble in paradise, nephew?”

“A minor crisis,” Victor replied sourly, getting to his feet and taking his jacket from Zebulon without so much as a word of thanks, “We’ll continue this discussion when I’m not currently fending off global catastrophe. You _do_ have my number, yes?”

“I do,” Vasily said, giving his mimosa a contemplative look as it swirled around in his glass. Victor rolls his eyes again, knowing the man has no intention of calling or texting like a civilized human being living in the modern world.

“Enjoy your breakfast, uncle,” Victor said.

He opens a Portal before he reaches the end of the foyer, crossing over into headquarters and pausing outside the double doors to the office where the trainees have been left under Georgi and Mila’s supervision. Emil seems to be adjusting fairly well, already having experience with basic protocol and just needs a little more training. Minami is a work in progress.

He doesn’t know if they’ll be ready for a baby Hunt let alone the real one that may or may not be waiting for them in Dublin. He’s never been a religious man, but he prays for patience and for the days to go by a little bit faster so that Yuuri will come back to him.

There’s nothing remarkable or remotely emergent happening in the office except Minami holding a large bowl of what look like lima beans while Mila resolutely types up a report. Their youngest recruit is sniffling, holding back tears with each mouthful. Neither Emil or Georgi are anywhere to be seen and it’s dead silent save for the tapping of Mila’s keyboard and Minami’s occasional pathetic sniffle.

“Oh good!” Mila’s voice is falsely cheerful, “Our fearless leader has returned.” She swivels around in her chair and Victor stares because, somehow, in the last twenty-four hours her forehead has gotten bigger. 

Oh.

Oh wait.

Her eyebrows are _gone_.

He barely opens his mouth to ask when she holds up a finger, her Russian particularly biting, “Not. A word. None.” Victor shuts his mouth and glances at Minami who’s taken the opportunity to try and hide some of the beans in his jacket.

“MINAMI!” Mila barks without taking her eyes off of Victor. The trainee squeaks, and the bowl nearly goes flying, lima beans bouncing off the carpet. Her accent is particularly harsh when she snaps, in English, “ _No_ shoving lima beans in your pockets!”

“Please,” Minami pleads, turning watery chicken-nugget puppy dog eyes on Victor, “They’re _so gross_.”

“You’re going to eat every last bean for every hair you singed off,” Mila intimidates, blue eyes even more intense in her eyebrow-less face and fresh tears escape the chicken nugget’s eyes, lifting another spoonful of lima beans to his trembling lips.

“Where’s Emil?” Victor asked Mila.

“He should be in the lab with Georgi,” Mila said, turning back around in her swivel chair, “something about running more tests.”

Victor sighs and leaves back out the double doors. He fully expects to hear some sort of alarm before the elevator even reaches the ground floor and the silence before the doors even open is somehow more alarming.

He’s greeted by the muffled screams of the analysts and bright green faintly steaming foam.

 _Maybe I should’ve stayed at uncle’s_ , he thinks, _had some quiche and played catch-up._

“What the hell happened?” he asked a nearby CSI.

“Some of the interns thought it’d be funny to make elephant toothpaste,” she says tiredly, then gestures to the gigantic mess with her clipboard.

“Is it…safe to touch?” he frowned. He’s assuming she’ll say ‘no’. It’s usually a ‘no’.

“Depends on what they used as a catalyst. A batch this large will produce _a lot_ of heat. Some of the staff couldn’t escape in time,” she looks so weary and a glance at her badge tells Victor she’s one of the direct supervisors which means this is technically her mess. He doesn’t envy her having to explain to both HR and the top brass _why_ seventy percent of the analytic staff needed to go to the burn unit. As they speak, the foam is slowly cooling and starting to deflate to a more reasonable level and CSIs are emerging, shuffling and/or crawling out like foamy zombies.

Victor realized his field analyst and trainee are both in there somewhere and Emil’s text for help was sort of justified. He turns to see another CSI that had escaped being caught in the foam, shuffling up with a hose extending across the lobby behind him. As soon as water is added, the foam starts to shrink, and more CSIs appear.

He doesn’t stick around to watch the interns that started the whole mess get lit up by their boss, instead he carefully picks his way into the analyst department, making a roughshod barrier to act as a shield as he goes looking for his two teammates.

“Gosha! Emil?” he calls out, his voice muffled by the forest of foam clinging to the walls. He unearths several CSIs as he goes and eventually, he hears Emil’s muffled response.

“Captain!”

Emil and Georgi are both still wearing their goggles and gloves, and the trainee’s borrowed lab coat is stained green in big messy splotches. 

“It was like a fucking tsunami!” Emil explained, gesturing with his hands, “One minute we were just standing there waiting for the analyzer to finish its run and the next…” he mimes a wave, his cheeks ballooning as he mimics the sound the chemical reaction must have made, “We couldn’t see a damn thing. I thought we were gonna be stuck here for hours.”

“Are you hurt?” Victor asked tiredly, “Bumps? Bruises? Burns?”

“Some minor burns I think,” Georgi said, “thankfully we had to get covered up to enter the lab so most of us is probably untouched.” Victor can see some patches of angry pink skin on Georgi’s ear and high on his cheek. 

“Still, best get cleared by medical,” Victor said, “HR will ream you otherwise.”

With the walls a little more visible, Georgi’s able to recognize where they are and guide them out of the maze that is the Analyst Department.

“Do you know what happened? Or who did it?” Georgi asked.

“Some interns according to the supervisor I spoke to,” Victor answered.

Georgi whistled, “They must’ve broken some kind of record. I’m a little impressed.”

“What is this stuff anyway?” Emil kicked a blob of foam, then spends a minute or so standing there shaking it off his shoe.

“Elephant’s toothpaste,” Georgi said, “you can’t actually brush your teeth with it. If you use potassium iodide as your catalyst it can be kind of dangerous. I’m hoping they used yeast…”

More CSIs are finding their way out of the foam and they unearth a few more as they go, amassing a sizable entourage on the way to the exit.

“Oh, hey Charlie!” Georgi greeted one of the bluecoats they find, “How’s the new baby doing?”

“Oh, you know, eating a lot and screaming a lot,” the older analyst replied tiredly, “How’s the, uh, girlfriend?”

“She’s doing great,” Georgi said cheerfully.

The lobby is in an even greater state of chaos. Maintenance has put up bright orange caution cones and tape around the large puddles of soapy water bordering the entrance to the Analyst Department. Medical personnel from the MedWard are doing assessments on the staff as they emerge from the foam and a nurse attempts to flag Victor down to give him a physical.

“I’m fine,” he says, then gestures to his Unit members, “I just went to check on my minions.” Georgi gives him a withering look and Emil waves at the nurse, “They’ll need your expert eyes more than me.” he nudges them both forward, towards the nurse, to partially shield his exit.

Back in the office, Mila is drawing her eyebrows back on while Minami despondently chews on a mouthful of lima beans. 

Victor collapses at his desk, sinking low in his chair with a sigh.

“What is it now?” Mila asked flatly, turning her head to assess the symmetry of her eyebrows.

“Oh, nothing much,” Victor sighed, “it’s been three days and we’re no closer to figuring this bullshit out is all. Georgi and Emil are downstairs getting assessed by medical because of a chemical tsunami-“ 

Minami lets out a terrified squeak and pales, the comically large spoon holding a mound of lima beans frozen halfway to his mouth.

“They’re fine,” Victor said, “Jury’s still out on whether the foam was altogether harmless or not.”

“Foam?” Mila arched one sketched-on brow, “What are you talking about?”

“A few of the interns made something called elephant toothpaste,” Victor said, “Very foamy.”

Mila makes a noise of understanding and goes back to sketching on her eyebrows. The double doors open to admit Georgi and Emil, both of them changed out of their lab get up. The angry patch of skin on Georgi’s jaw is gone, and he looks a bit more tired than he was five minutes ago indicating he likely had a short healing session for the burns on his face.

“What happened to, ‘We’ll be back in ten minutes tops’?” Mila asked.

“That was before a few interns decided to flood the department,” Georgi replied, taking a seat at his desk.

“It was crazy!” Emil exclaimed, “We looked up and there was this huge wall of foamy stuff coming right for us.”

“Complete clean up will take at least two days,” Georgi said, “It’s a good thing the evidence locker is completely sealed, otherwise we’d have a real mess on our hands.”

“Any casualties?” Mila joked.

“Just my dignity,” Georgi replied flatly, he stares at Mila for a beat or two, his eyes narrowing in a confused squint, “What happened to your-?”

Mila bares her clenched teeth, “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Emil is giving Minami a weird look, “I thought you said you hated lima beans.” The colorful eighteen-year-old makes a sad noise, muffled around yet another mouthful of the hated vegetable.

Georgi glances at Victor for answers who just shrugs.

“Um, I’ll make some coffee,” Emil volunteered, “Would anybody like some?”

“No dairy in mine,” Mila instructed, “three sugars.”

“Same,” Georgi said.

“I’ll come along and show you how to work the machine,” Victor said, “It can get quite finicky.”

The Ninja coffeemaker is a complex creature of black and chrome and Emil is clearly intimidated by it. “We just…had a Mr. Coffee,” he explains weakly, “You know…put grounds in filter, water in the tank, flip the switch? That’s it. I mean, it sounded like it was possessed every time but…”

“I reviewed your assessment,” Victor interrupted, “the footage I mean.” He removes the pot from it’s little stand and dumps out the dregs of the last batch in the sink before giving it a thorough wash, “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t all that impressed.”

“O-oh,” Emil looks fidgety.

“Your combat skills are pretty solid. Basic, but solid,” Victor continued, “But…I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t use your magic at all.”

“I... don’t want to be reliant on it,” Emil said.

“It’s fine not to be dependent on your magic,” Victor said, “but it’s like a muscle. You have to use it, or it’ll atrophy.” He puts the pot back on its stand and a glance at Emil tells him that the young man looks a bit uncomfortable. “You’re afraid of your magic. Why?”

Emil flinches, “It’s…I can’t…I can’t control it? I can use it for little stuff. Like, breezes or something. But the bigger stuff gets away from me…”

Great. He’d thought discussing this in front of the others might embarrass the kid, but now he wishes he had backup. What would Georgi or Mila say? What would _Yuuri_ say? “I can understand your reluctance. Losing control can be…terrifying. Especially when you _know_ it’s _your_ power. You think you should be able to control it, but when it doesn’t happen that way it’s a nightmare.” He pours in the water, adds the grounds and turns the machine on. “Your affinity is wind, yes?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Emil said.

“Mm…the most finicky of the four main elements,” Victor mused, “I’m interested in seeing your capabilities before your first Hunt. Unfortunately, the assessment didn’t give me much to work with. It’s a very controlled environment. Doesn’t do well to simulate real life combat.”

“Okay,” Emil nods.

“I’m not reprimanding you or anything,” Victor tries to imitate Yuuri’s gentle cadence, “I was just curious is all.”

“I understand, sir,” Emil said.

Victor suppresses a sigh and refrains from correcting him. Apparently being respectful and addressing him by his proper title is what they like to do. _Kids today_. He needs to get them in the gym and see what they can actually do against actual live opponents. Minami, he knows, is most likely proficient in the fighting style taught by the Japanese academies but he’d relied too much on his magic during the assessment for Victor accurately judge.

He helps Emil carry the coffee back to the office and hands Mila hers.

“Thank you, signor,” she chirped, then took a sip, “Ah. Lovely.”

“Did you find anything useful at Asian Branch?” he asked her.

She sighed and set her cup down, “We’re still combing through all the materials. It’s slow going since most of it is written in kanji and Nugget over there is the only one who can read it right now.”

“I-it’s a lot of jargon,” Minami piped up, “and the amount of material is extensive.”

“You’ll have to give us more time,” Mila leaned back in her chair, “or we can bully Jaxon into recalling Yuuri from wherever the fuck he sent him.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to be bullied,” Georgi volunteered, tearing off a piece of his bagel.

“Threatened, then,” Mila amended. Georgi sighed.

“I’ll save that for a last resort,” Victor said, ignoring Georgi’s quiet thanks to the gods, “Speaking of Jaxon, has Lenz started cooperating with the OSC interrogators yet?”

“Nope,” Mila answered succinctly, sourly, “Silent as a damned church mouse.”

“Interesting,” Victor mused, “He’s lasted longer than I initially postulated. I give it another few days before he cracks.”

He sends Minami and Emil home at lunchtime, prompting wide-eyed uncertain looks from the two newbies.

“Um, are you sure?” Emil frowned.

“The lab is compromised, and our primary suspect is refusing to cooperate,” Victor said, “There’s nothing exciting here. Go home and rest. I plan on putting you through your paces tomorrow.”

The concern that replaces their uncertainty makes him smile. Mila sits up in her chair, stretching her arms above her head with a low straining grunt, “What’ve you got planned for tomorrow, El Capitan?”

“Training,” Victor said, “at least in the morning. Minami relies too much on his magic.”

Mila lets out a snort, “Really? What gave it away?”

“The footage of his assessment,” Victor said.

“It’s called a rhetorical questi- wait. You can access that?” Mila asked.

“I had to request it, but yes,” Victor shrugged a shoulder.

“I wanna see,” Mila said.

So, Mila and Georgi both crowd around Victor’s desk, watching the footage of Minami’s assessment on his tablet. It’s easy to keep track of where the nugget is in space with his brightly colored hair, and he’s so obviously comfortable using his fire. Golems disintegrate into fine clouds of ash and flame scorches the concrete arena.

“The chicken nugget has some firepower,” Mila whistled.

“I thought he was a Dual,” Georgi frowned. 

“He is,” Victor said, “Don’t ask me why he’s not using any earth magic. My best guess is that he’s not as proficient in it.”

“What about Emil?” Mila nudged.

Victor closes out of Minami’s and opens the file containing Emil’s footage. On screen, the older initiate stands at the ready while the golems slowly wake up and begin to amble towards him. The witch doesn’t move at first, waiting for some sort of silent countdown to finish before taking down the first golem using the blunt end of the rifle – his one allowed weapon.

“Why doesn’t he use his magic to push them all back?” Georgi asked four minutes in, “He’s going to be overwhelmed.”

“Short version is he’s not comfortable using his affinity,” Victor said.

Georgi clicks his tongue in sympathy, “Poor thing. He’s so young.”

“We don’t have a lot of time to whip them into shape,” Mila said, crossing her arms.

“If we take them on a Hunt now, they’ll just get killed,” Victor agreed, “They need to get used to open unpredictable combat without a safety net.”

“Gym time?” Mila asked.

“Gym time,” Victor nodded.

She grinned, exposing her fangs, “I can’t wait.”

They call it in early and Victor goes home to run errands and take Makkachin on his evening walk. The poodle sniffs every post, bush, and bench on the way to the grocers then pouts when Victor has to leave him outside while he runs into the store.

“Be good, Makka,” Victor says, “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He’s not interested in making anything too complex for dinner so he grabs simple ingredients and more laundry soap so he can finally take care of the ridiculous pile that’s accumulated in the last four days.

Dinner’s eaten curled up on the couch while watching Netflix and trying (and failing) not to miss Yuuri too terribly. He should turn in early so he can be at the gym to greet the newbies on time tomorrow for training before getting on with the case work stuff, but reluctance to sleep in that too-big bed by himself keeps him on the couch re-watching Jessica Jones and snacking on the pocky Yuuri keeps stashed behind the tea box.

He cringes in anticipation during a creepy scene, expecting a jump scare. Behind him, there’s a heavy thump and a scrape, and Makkachin picks up his head, tensed to bark. Victor turns towards the noise, scanning the darkened apartment. Another scrape and thump before the entryway light clicks on.

Makkachin lets out a soft, ‘boof’ and Victor lets the aether curl between his fingers and he feels the shape of a gun solidify in his palm. He hears a soft familiar sob and he immediately lets the weapon dissolve, the fight draining out of him all at once when he sees Yuuri hunched over in the entryway, gasping and red faced like he’d just run a marathon.

“Oh, thank gods,” Victor breathed, “Yuuri, are you alright?”

Yuuri just looks at him and bursts right into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this took forever. I've been trying to get Fiat Nox finished and in the process I ended up...kinda neglecting Post? Plus, new job and RL is all over the place and...anyway, my problems don't matter. Next two chapters are somewhat (read: barely) outlined and they may or may not be out soon...ish. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated <3


	8. Show Up to the Club Like, "Can I Go Home Now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Referenced (past) drug use and chemical dependency. Referenced nonconsensual touching/groping. Discretion is advised.

_October 2024; Berlin_

He tenses and grits his teeth behind his close-mouthed smile while subtly angling his body away from the hand creeping up the back of his thigh just before it can grab his ass.

“Anything else I can get you?” he asked, struggling to hide the way he strains to maintain the air of a polite server. He’s asked the question so many times in the past two days that he can say it without an accent now.

He scurries back to the bar to put in the order, dodging stragglers from the dance floor and keeping his face carefully blank until he reaches the other side of the club where Jo is expertly flipping bottles.

On Fridays, the bartender comes out in full glamourous drag and Yuuri kind of envies the Queen’s ability to balance in those ridiculous heels all night while mixing and serving amazing cocktails.

“I need another round of shots for that table in the back,” Yuuri announced.

“Rough night?” Jo asked, pouring another glass of top-shelf whiskey for the tired werewolf in a suit.

“Just more wandering hands than I’m used to,” Yuuri sighed, “I’ll be fine.”

The rules are clear: guests are supposed to keep their hands off the staff, whether there’s consent or not. Sure, Bea makes a point of hiring relatively attractive people for better profit. Apparently, Bea has been strict since an incident years ago when a member of her staff was fooling around with members of rival gangs and nearly got the club blown up as it became a battleground for the fair lady’s hand (or was it a man? Yuuri can’t quite remember). He already knows she doesn’t condone any kind of prostitution in her club and that includes just picking up guests and taking them outside.

A good thing that Yuuri has zero interest in any of that whatsoever. All he needs is to overhear Frown talking about the operation or find out where the manufacturer is.

The only problem is the kingpin hasn’t shown up.

It’s a Friday night, they’re the busiest they’ve been since Yuuri started posing as a server and neither the druglord nor his cronies have shown up (the latter, Yuuri’s grateful for. He couldn’t stomach another night of dodging Dmitri’s advances or shameless comments).

He’s mostly left to his own devices. The other waitstaff are far too busy with their own sections or tables to provide any guidance but luckily for him, waitering in a club is hardly different from waiting on people at the inn. His awareness is heightened by the crush of people, forcing himself to stay vigilant even as his senses are threatening to become overwhelmed by the sheer busyness. He deftly avoids searching hands and grabby fingers.

At the end of the night he wants very much to sink into an exhausted torpor but as soon as the sharp autumnal chill sneaks beneath his layers and bites at his exposed cheeks, he feels a little more awake. His feet ache so much more now that he’s alert, and he’s tempted to take a Portal back to Gin’s apartment, refraining to minimize the risk of being seen and potentially blowing his cover.

The she-wolf is nowhere to be seen when he lets himself in and he lets the glamour fade. As soon as his shoes come off, he’s suddenly so exhausted he could cry. He collapses into the makeshift bed on the floor, crafted haphazardly from spare blankets and pillows and he so acutely misses his bed – Victor’s body weight next to his and the way he cuddles Yuuri tightly in sleep – his eyes sting.

He closes his eyes and he doesn’t dream.

Yuuri cracked open one sleep-crusted eye, narrowing it in annoyance at the ceiling – or more specifically, the screams of the couple in the upstairs unit. He’d wish they’d be more considerate of their neighbors every time they decide to have an argument about who’s allowed to like who’s photos on Instagram. Yuuri grimaces at the sheer toxicity as the argument progresses. His German is passable – forcibly getting better since he started working at the club – but even he can tell that the words being exchanged are too harsh to be indicative of a loving couple.

Slowly he sits up, categorizing his aches and pains. His feet haven’t hurt like this in a long time and his lower back is feeling the strain. Sleeping on the floor probably isn’t the best way to get rid of his back pain, but it’s the lesser of two evils when compared with the violent decades’ old couch.

He takes care when rolling over onto his front so that he can push himself up into a standing position, grimacing when he walks over to the kitchen to peek at the time on the microwave clock.

Well, at least the dysfunctional couple upstairs waited until early evening to start squabbling. Still, he’s awake an hour and a half too early for his shift.

He wonders if Frown and his cronies will show tonight and finally give Yuuri the carrot he’s been after. He can feel his mouth forming a grimace at the thought of Dmitri’s wandering hands and lascivious stares.

 _Three more days…_ he reminds himself; _three more days and I can go home_. 

After this he doesn’t want to go undercover for a long while. It’s not just about missing home or his Unit anymore, it’s missing the big comfortable bed that smells like the laundry detergent he and Victor share. It’s the rare nights where he can game or watch Netflix in total peace. He misses having dinner with Victor, either at the table or curled up on the couch just enjoying each other’s company without having to think about work.

It looks like Gin has been out for most of the day while he was asleep. He takes the opportunity to monopolize the shower, the pipes letting out an unholy shriek when he first turns the water on. He takes his time getting clean, feeling a great deal less crusty when he gets out. He stiffens in the middle of toweling off when he hears the front door slam open, relaxing when he hears Gin call out, “Yo! I could use some help!” Shrugging into some clean clothes he pads out to the kitchen where she’s currently in the process of extricating herself from the literal armloads of grocery bags. “I tried waking you earlier to see if you wanted anything,” Gin said, handing him the carton of eggs, “but you were like the dead.”

“Maybe next time try screaming,” Yuuri told her wearily, “That always seems to work.”

“She needs to just dump his ass,” Gin said for the nth time, “Keeping him around ain’t doing much good for her or any of us for that matter.”

“Last night was…exhausting,” Yuuri sighed.

“Frown turning out to be a tough nut to crack, eh?”

“It’s not that,” Yuuri squinted, closing the fridge, “It’s…he’s hard to read. He does everything for a reason, but good luck figuring out what that reason is, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Gin nodded.

“Uh…get any good sales?” Yuuri asked, feeling supremely awkward. He knows Gin isn’t a real drug dealer, but…

“Not really,” Gin said, “Spotted a couple of Hunters yesterday that totally spooked everyone. I won’t get any buyers for at least a couple days.”

Yuuri pauses, “How do you know they were Hunters?”

“You’ve all got the same vibe,” Gin said, “Like, none of you ever look like much but you get this feeling like ’If I go over there I’ll die’. Y’know?”

“I guess?” Yuuri squinted.

“Of course, _you_ don’t get it. You’re a Hunter,” Gin said, rolling her eyes.

Yuuri wonders what would bring members of HUNTER to Berlin, especially to these parts where the community is a bit…rougher. He’s noticed that the atmosphere here is getting a little tense and he’d caught bits and pieces of information from the staff. Walking home from a shift at night has him more and more on edge and Gin’s no longer staying out late.

It only makes sense for the community to take more precautions as it gets closer to Halloween. There hasn’t been any talk of Bea closing the club on Halloween night, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she did. A building full of tasty prey hopped up on drugs and alcohol would make for a demon smorgasbord. As a Hunter he wouldn’t advise it, but right now he’s not a Hunter he’s a plain jane server that grits his teeth every time a guest sees fit to touch what isn’t theirs.

He helps Gin prepare a simple meal and they sit on the floor in the living room in front of the television while they eat.

“What’s your plan with Frown?” she asked.

“I thought about approaching him as a buyer,” Yuuri said.

“That might not work,” Gin narrowed her eyes, “You don’t look like you use. Focus isn’t the kind of drug curious cats go after either.”

“Why not?”

“It’s got a reputation for being hard on first time users,” she said, “You wanna build up to it. Try LSD or molly first.”

“I have,” he muttered, “I didn’t like it.”

Still, he’s weighing the risks against the benefits. On the one hand, he’d promised himself – promised Victor – that he would take care of himself. On the other, it could potentially help maintain his cover and get him what he needs to pin Frown as the other half of the operation. Never mind that the person he turns into under the influence is wholly embarrassing and liable to do very very stupid things. Then there’s the fact that chemical dependence is a wild animal he’d rather not wrestle with again.

Gin’s eyebrows go way up, “Got a bit of a wild streak, eh? I should’ve known.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he wrinkled his nose.

“Nothin’,” she said a bit too innocently, “Focus is a trip and an adrenaline rush. Most like it because the comedown at first doesn’t suck too much, it’s only when you keep going back for that hit that things can get…icky.”

“Is it different for everyone?” he asked.

She shrugs a shoulder and chews for a moment, “Yes and no. For me, I had a bitchin’ migraine the day after. Focus opens up the senses. There’s nothing impeding the sensory feedback into the brain. At the same time, you feel…strong. But weightless at the same time? Like every single thing weighing you down or holding you back is gone. You can take on the fucking world if you want to and no one could stop you.”

Frankly it sounds amazing and he tells her so.

“At first it is,” she said, then her mouth takes a grim downturn, “It’s just like any drug though. When you’re not high, you’re totally low and it’s shitty.”

“So, you’ve tried it,” he says. Not quite asking but she nods. “Um, do you know anything about how it’s manufactured? Or where it came from?”

“Not a clue. Frown’s the main supplier but his cronies are the ones who manage us. Make sure we’re selling the merchandise and not, y’know, taking it for ourselves. Shit’s expensive.”

“Do dealers charge by gram or…?” Yuuri asked.

“Usually by gram,” Gin nodded, “We get reamed if we don’t stay consistent.”

He imagines that has something to do with the fact that there’s one supplier and the distribution is tightly controlled by a single individual. Frown’s got the entire focus market in the palm of his hand and Yuuri has no doubt he’s making a killing.

He nearly chokes on his next inhale when Gin tells him the price per gram, “ _How_ much?”

“Eight euros for half a gram is the base price,” she says wryly, “One guy sold his fuckin’ _car_ for this shit. I tried to talk him out of it, but,” she shrugs a shoulder, “what can you do?”

“Well, considering it’s a designer drug,” he mused, “and it’s synthesized from demonic minerals, I can’t say I’m totally surprised.”

Gin pauses, her fork frozen in mid-air on the way to her mouth. “You’re fucking with me,” she said seriously.

“I read the analysis report myself,” he replied. He technically shouldn’t be telling her this. He knows she doesn’t have clearance, but she’s tried the drug and been embedded as a dealer for almost two years.

“That’s why you’re here,” she murmured, “Not because…not because it’s becoming a problem but…”

“Don’t misunderstand,” he hastened to correct her, “Focus is already a problem. It’s starting to find its way into the mundane market. If this gets any bigger, the community here will be in more danger.” The demonic base ingredients aside, Yuuri imagines HUNTER would have been brought in anyway with how fast the operation is currently growing.

Gin sets her plate aside, an amalgam of emotions on her face. Yuuri sees concern, trepidation, a healthy amount of anxiety, and…doubt? He doesn’t ask. But he feels a little better telling her about this and hopes that she’ll take it as her cue to get out of Berlin before she loses more of herself than she’s willing to.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty that he can’t tell her that their world hovers on the brink of collapse anyway. He dreads looking at the maps of the infestation’s spread, wondering just how much more red he’ll see compared to just a few short days ago. He hopes the community’s precautions around Halloween will remain in place.

“I hope you have a plan to shut the whole thing down quick then,” Gin said, “More dealers are being brought on every week.”

“I was afraid of that,” Yuuri sighed, then looked askance at her, “Does Jaxon know?”

She snorted, “I haven’t spoken to Jax in weeks. I imagine he thinks he doesn’t need anybody to run point as long as you’re here.”

 _Note to self: punch Jaxon in_ both _kidneys_.

They eat in silence for a moment and Gin heaves a low sigh through her nose, “I had thought about it. Y’know, asking Jaxon to pull me.”

Yuuri swallows a mouthful of vegetables, “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“It just feels like I’m running away if I do,” Gin wrinkled her nose, “I told myself I was just being a baby about it but…”

“You’re not a coward,” Yuuri said, “It’s not cowardly to admit you’re over your head.”

Gin heaves a sigh and leans back on her hands, her plate balanced on her lap, “I just feel like there’s nothing I can do now. With the ring growing so fast and you telling me how it’s made I just…”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re one of the toughest ladies I’ve ever met,” Yuuri said.

“You flatter me,” Gin batted her eyelashes, flicking a lock of bright pink hair over her shoulder.

It’s nearly time for him to finish getting ready for his shift at the club, and he stands with his empty plate in hand to take to the kitchen. He pulls on his shoes, tugs his hoodie a little tighter around him and leaves.

Despite the fact that his feet still hurt, he walks a little faster when he notices the streetlamps flickering to life. So, he arrives at the club nearly twenty minutes early and he takes his time getting changed into the clean uniform waiting for him in his locker.

Andrea comes in just as he’s fixing his tie and pins the staffing sheet to the corkboard in place of the old one.

He’s not surprised to see that he’s stuck with covering VIP for the night.

It’s still five minutes ‘til opening when he leaves the staff room and he makes the rounds in his section before the doors open. He draws back the curtains on each alcove and lights each candle, scouring the floor for leftover messes.

The doors open, the music starts, and patrons start trickling in. Yuuri makes himself look busy at the bar, so he doesn’t fidget or stare at the door waiting for you-know-who to walk in.

“You’ll be alright, pearl,” Jo told him, painted lips forming a reassuring smile, “You’re a tough cookie.”

“Thanks, Jo,” Yuuri offers a weak smile in return.

The first group has been seated in his section: at least four men, loudly celebrating and Yuuri takes their orders without too much hassle and his shift is already off to a better start than last night.

Until he realizes that somehow Frown and his two bodyguards have come in and seated themselves in their usual alcove without Yuuri’s know how. He rushes over to take their orders, remembering Andrea’s advice and standing well out of Dmitri’s reach though the mob grunt still gives him unnecessarily lecherous looks.

Frown’s gaze is particularly chilly. Those blue eyes make a strange sort of dread sit heavily in Yuuri’s stomach and he takes a moment of respite at the bar.

“Get it together, newbie,” Andrea snapped, picking up a tray of shots with practiced ease and carries them out to the floor.

“I’m trying,” he protested weakly, the sound lost to the heavy bass and chaos on the dance floor.

He delivers the drinks to Frown’s table, a part of him both tensing and relaxing at the familiar sound of Russian on his ears. The voice of Frown’s other bodyguard is rougher and his accent slightly different than Victor’s.

“…so Fima calls me in a fucking panic because he ‘accidentally’ shot Alek in the face, and I’m like, ‘The fuck you want me to do about it?’”

“How do you accidentally shoot someone in the face?” Dmitri rolled his eyes.

Yuuri keeps his expression carefully neutral and leaves to check on his other tables as soon as he sets the drinks down, resolving to return to check on the mobsters when he’s done making his other rounds. He suppresses his shiver of disgust even as he walks away, and he can feel himself becoming too rigid with anxiety whenever he thinks about what he’d just overheard.

If there was a single crumb of doubt that Frown was mafia, it’s been blasted to smithereens now. Even now, standing at the bar, he thinks about the aura of freezing nonchalance surrounding the kingpin and has to fight down the shiver or the grimace that wants to pull across his face at the thought of going back over there.

So, he summons every single drop of Japanese hospitality in his veins and powers through the first half of his shift. He ignores his aching feet and the twinge in his back from sleeping on the floor, gritting his teeth and composing his face into a polite mask for the patrons that sit in his section or flag him down for assistance.

He neatly dodges wandering hands, tunes out lecherous comments and bounces between tables like a ping pong ball.

“See?” Jo confides with a wink, “Told you you’d be fine.”

The Drag Queen has too much faith in him and, of course, the universe realizes that Yuuri’s ability to cope must be promptly interrupted and a patron spills their drink down the front of his shirt.

Of course, this is somehow his fault.

He spends twenty minutes cleaning up broken glass and another one of the waitstaff – Aaron – brings towels to help mop up the rest of the mess.

“That’s the third time tonight,” Aaron mutters in acerbic German.

“She didn’t apologize,” Yuuri replies quietly.

“’Course she didn’t,” Aaron bit out.

They carry the broken glass and sodden towels to the back, and Yuuri looks down at his previously crisp white shirt with a sigh. There’s an orange splotch that might take two good washes to come out and he can smell the grapefruit juice in the cocktail.

“I can see your nipples,” Aaron helpfully informs him and Yuuri promptly squeaks and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Don’t look,” Yuuri protested and Aaron laughed.

“I’ll cover your tables while you go change, okay?”

“Thanks,” Yuuri mumbled and made himself scarce.

The staff room is thankfully empty, so no one is around to see him strip and wipe off the sticky residue of the lady’s cocktail with a wad of damp paper towels. He dabs at his trousers with minimal effect and he sighs.

If it wasn’t risking blowing his cover wide open, he’d do a simple cast to scour the clothes and be clean and dry. But, he’s not Yuuri the mixed-blood Warlock. He’s Peter, an undertalented Earth witch currently so desperate for employment as to work in a shady-but-still-somewhat-respectable club. And Peter only has one spare uniform shirt and the one pair of alcohol-soaked pants that he’s stuck with for the rest of the shift.

He breathes a low exasperated sigh through his nose and shrugs into said shirt just as the door to the staff lounge opens behind him and he forces himself not to react even though his heart feels like it’s going to explode. Whoever came in hasn’t moved at all and remained completely silent. The ominous presence behind him has him relaxing, body and mind prepared for a fight.

But when he turns, he’s startled to see Frown.

“U-um…?” he glances at the door behind the kingpin then at the perfectly gelled coif that Frown keeps his ice blond hair in, “Can I…help you…?”

“’Underwhelming’,” Frown drawled.

“I-I’m sorry?” that strange dread returns with a violent vengeance and Yuuri feels almost nauseous.

Frown’s handsome face is completely unreadable, “I find that word to be inaccurate now.”

A chill goes down Yuuri’s spine and he suddenly feels like he’s been cornered as he remembers: _you’re so underwhelming in person_. He wants to check and see that his glamour is still firmly in place, but he doesn’t have to. He knows it is. So… _how?_

Frown is raking his eyes over Yuuri’s glamoured form with cool detachment, “However, I do agree that Victor has peculiar taste.”

Yuuri opens his mouth but no sound comes out and Frown takes a smooth step forward, the sound of his formal shoes on linoleum loud in the oppressive silence. He doesn’t know how he missed Frown possibly casting a revealing spell or even how he blew his cover enough in the first place to have Frown suspect he was using a glamour.

He finally finds his voice, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a weak, “I don’t understand.”

“Uncle is old and has made the mistake of underestimating you,” Frown continued, “I will do no such thing. You may be on the side of the Exorcists, but I can see you’re not so different from us.”

Yuuri straightened at that, narrowing his eyes, “I am _nothing_ like you.”

Frown arched an eyebrow, “Now, if that were true you wouldn’t be cohabiting with Victor, now would you?”

“He left that life behind decades ago,” Yuuri said, “and unlike you, I believe in second chances.”

Frown lets out a huge snort, the first crack in his marble façade, “I’m sorry. How old are you again?” the kingpin tucks an elegant hand into one of his pockets, “People don’t change. Especially people like us.”

“If you came here to intimidate me, it won’t work,” Yuuri said, thankful that his voice doesn’t shake.

“Why would I waste my time doing that?” Frown replied disdainfully, “I only came to tell you to give Victor my absolute best regards.” The cool calculating cruelty in his eyes reminds Yuuri of Vasily Nikiforov and a tendril of fear snakes its way down Yuuri’s spine to coil heavily in his gut.

The idea of anything happening to Victor makes his heart clench and he stares at the door when Frown turns to leave. He finishes buttoning his shirt on autopilot and leaves the staffing room, feeling strangely numb.

Frown and his entourage have left. Their empty glasses abandoned on the table and he flinches when his brain conjures images of coming home to find the flat empty – or worse, Victor still there but long dead with eyes empty and fair skin stained red. He feels nauseous when he imagines the walls splattered with blood, Victor in the kitchen, or in their bed. Makkachin cowering in fear at the sound of the gunshots or killed for getting in the assassin’s way.

“Are you alright?” Jo asked and Yuuri blinks owlishly, realizing he’d been standing at the bar just staring off into space.

“I-I think I have to go,” he replied numbly, stumbling over his German, “Can you tell Bea I’m sorry?”

He doesn’t wait to hear the bartender’s reply, leaving his tray and making for the back door. As soon as the cold air hits his face, he blindly opens a Portal, shivering violently when he crosses over to the other side. The smell of brine is the first thing that registers and the shriek of seagulls. It’s late in Piter, the Russian chill biting mercilessly through his uniform and he starts at a brisk walk across the bridge, walking faster and faster until he’s in a full sprint.

He runs full tilt through another Portal just before he reaches the apartment building and goes stumbling into the entryway. His hand scrapes the wall as he scrabbles for purchase, so he won’t fall flat on his face. His pulse is so loud in his ears, he can just barely hear the sound of the TV and he reaches for the light switch, terrified of what he’ll find.

 _Please, let me be wrong_ , he prayed, _please_.

And then – “Oh, thank gods. Yuuri, are you alright?”

Victor, in his leisure clothes and very much alive.

Relief makes his knees weak and his eyes burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's your favorite Drag Queen? Mine is a toss-up between Miz Cracker and Trixie Mattel. 
> 
> I found some time to get most of the chapter done this weekend and edit this during my downtime at work. So, I probably didn't catch all my boo-boos. Thank you all for being patient with me. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated <3


	9. And Then There's This Asshole

_October 2024; St. Petersburg_

Victor has a brief moment of _Oh gods what have I done_ when hiccupping sobs come pouring out of his clearly besieged lover. He conjures a handkerchief, dabbing furiously at Yuuri’s face while frantically trying to console him.

He’s equal parts elated and worried; while his wishes for Yuuri’s return have been granted he wonders at the cost. If Yuuri’s back so soon it could mean that his cover was blown, and he has to take refuge behind the heavily Warded walls of the flat until further notice.

“What’s happened?” Victor asked, drawing back to look at him, cupping Yuuri’s dreadfully pale face in his hands and smoothing his thumbs over tear-stained cheeks, “ _Yuu_ ri, talk to me. Please.”

“I was,” Yuuri hiccupped, “so scared. He said – I thought he’d – I thought you’d been hurt –“

“Hurt?” Victor blinked, “Yuuri, I don’t understand-“

“’Give Victor my regards’,” Yuuri quoted, the tremors returning, “I thought…”

Gods, he’s still so lost. Nothing will make any sense until he gets Yuuri calmed down enough to explain. Makkachin helpfully nudges his way in between them, wiggling with excitement and covering Yuuri with slobbery kisses until the Exorcist is giggling, albeit the sound is a bit watery.

Victor gives Makkachin grateful scratches for helping to calm Yuuri down from the verges of a serious panic attack before helping his partner to his feet, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? And then how about a nice cup of cocoa?”

“That sounds nice,” Yuuri sighed.

Showered and dressed in the cozy pajamas Victor gifted him for Christmas, it becomes even more apparent that his partner hasn’t gotten much sleep in the past four – well, technically five now since it’s past midnight – days that he’s been gone. He hands Yuuri a warm mug before taking a seat next to him.

“Thank you, Victor,” Yuuri said quietly, resting his head on Victor’s shoulder with a sigh, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Victor replied, pressing a kiss to his hair, “Every single day.”

He feels Yuuri relax next to him and he watches for approval when his partner takes a sip of the cocoa, “Good?”

“Not bad,” Yuuri concedes, “Definitely better than your first attempt.”

He’ll take it. “What happened? Where’d you go? _Why_ were you dressed like a waiter?”

He’s not happy to hear that Yuuri’s been in Berlin all this time, “Jaxon had me meet up with an Exorcist already embedded there.” The younger Warlock’s brow creases as he mutters, “I should check up on her. She’ll be worried when I don’t come back-“

“If you’ve been made then you can’t go back,” Victor interrupted, voice sharper than he’d intended and he forces himself to sound a bit milder, “and definitely not by yourself.”

“I shouldn’t have been made,” Yuuri shook his head, “I wore a glamour the entire time. I was careful. I kept my head down.”

“So, what happened then?” Victor prompted.

“Gin found out who the kingpin was, but as a mid-tier dealer she couldn’t get close to him, so she helped me get a job at the club he liked, as a server.” Well, that explains the clothes and the smell of cigar smoke. “U-um, he cornered me. The kingpin. I was getting changed and he said some things. He called Vasily ‘uncle’….”

Victor’s brain comes to a record-scratching halt, “Wait, what?”

“He told me to give you his regards,” Yuuri said, “I…I didn’t think you were related. You don’t look very much alike. And he only went by Frown. No last name.”

Of course, Mikhail would use the hated nickname from when they were kids. Victor snorts aloud as he pictures the sullen twelve-year-old now an equally sullen adult. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was some kind of elaborate scheme to get his attention, especially if Mikhail recognized Yuuri straight out the gate. “Figures,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Mikhail is a clairvoyant,” Victor said, “Glamours don’t work on him. That’s why he called you out.”

“Mikhail…?”

Victor decides to take the time to explain, “Frown was a name my siblings and I used to tease him when we were kids. He wasn’t a very happy child.” The more he talks, the more his brain offers up a mishmash of memories of the few times he and his siblings were all together before he left to train. He most definitely cannot recall ever seeing Mikhail smile.

“So, you _are_ related.”

“Not biologically,” Victor said, “His father adopted me after marrying my mother.”

“Step-siblings,” Yuuri realized, “No wonder you don’t look alike.”

“Mm,” Victor said, “He inherited the Sight from his late mother. As far as I know, he’s the only one who did.” And it had made his older brother sullen, quiet, and guarded. From the sound of it, he’d grown up into an equally unhappy adult.

Yuuri tuts, brow creased with sympathy, “That sucks, but he’s still an asshole.”

Victor barks out a surprised laugh, “Yuuri! You hate using that word.”

“He is!” Yuuri said, pouting into his hot cocoa.

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Victor said, “He’s always been like that.”

It’s late enough that there might be not be a point in going to bed, but Yuuri looks exhausted and Victor is eager to collect on the cuddle deficit that’s developed in the past three days. It helps that his boyfriend is unusually clingy, and Victor happily capitalizes on that, utilizing his best cuddling skills to provide comfort and reassurance.

He does nod off, safe and warm in Yuuri’s arms only to wake up three hours later to his obnoxious alarm.

“Whazzat?” Yuuri mumbles, still mostly asleep.

“Shh,” Victor soothed, “I’m taking Makka on his walk.”

“’Kay,” Yuuri promptly goes back to sleep and Victor presses a kiss to his adorable forehead, positively giddy to have him back.

He coaxes a reluctant Makkachin out of bed, buckling him into his harness. A peek outside at the steadily falling snow has him reaching for the outerwear that Yuuri’s reinforced against the cold with his Wards.

The crisp cold outside burns away the last of the cobwebs clinging to his brain and he tilts his head back to look at the grey overcast sky and the snow as it falls. He breathes a vaporous sigh to the stars, sinking into a trancelike stupor until Makkachin tugs insistently at his leash, ready to move on to another spot.

It occurs to him as he’s crossing the bridge that he can’t shield Yuuri from this for much longer and that he should’ve expected this. Five years of happiness and relative peace, and his skeletons are rattling the closet. He can’t shake the terrible foreboding that twists his innards into anxious knots. He’d tried exposing Yuuri to the reality of who he is in small doses, surprised each time when Yuuri continued to accept him wholeheartedly and easily.

But everyone has their limits. Even someone as kind and understanding as Yuuri.

He hisses out a string of epithets when he accidentally steps into a pile of snow on the way back to the flat, and by the time he’s wiped off Makkachin’s soggy slushy paws and poured the poodle his daily helping of kibble, he’s ready for a hot shower.

Yuuri, predictably, has turned into a blanket burrito while Victor was out. All he can see of his boyfriend is a tuft of dark hair and he chuckles fondly before shutting himself in the bathroom and starting the water while he strips.

The warmth is heavenly, especially on his freezing feet, and he tilts his head into the spray with a low sigh.

In other circumstances, he wouldn’t bother showering when he has to visit the gym later, but he doesn’t anticipate breaking a sweat at all.

He hears the shower door open while he’s rinsing shampoo out of his hair, just before Yuuri slides up against his back.

“Hi,” Yuuri murmurs in his ear, voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Victor sang, moving his sopping hair out of his eyes before turning to lavish wet sloppy kisses on his partner.

“Why are you so cheerful?” Yuuri asked, his nose adorably wrinkled, nudging Victor out of the way so he can stand under the water.

“I got to wake up next to you,” Victor chirped, shuffling up behind him, “Why shouldn’t I be cheerful?”

Yuuri let out a loud snort, “Victor, I can’t wash like this.”

“I’ll wash you,” Victor said, “Here. Gimmie.” Yuuri holds the loofah out of reach, and Victor whines, “ _Yuu_ -ri!”

“If _you_ wash me then we’ll be in the shower all day,” Yuuri said.

“I fail to see the dilemma here,” Victor replied.

Yuuri gives him a Look and then proceeds to wash himself, perfunctorily. Victor pouts and finishes rinsing off but doesn’t extricate himself from the shower until Yuuri’s finished.

They dry off and brush their teeth together, and Victor’s positively giddy up until the point they have to separate somewhat to get dressed.

“Training today?” Yuuri asked, watching Victor pull on some leggings before reaching for his own clothes.

“For the duckies,” Victor answered.

“Speaking of the, er, trainees, how have things been going?”

Victor pauses, thinking of Minami’s tear-streaked face as he reluctantly shoveled lima beans into his miserable mouth, Mila’s singed-off eyebrows, and Emil covered in bright green foam.

 _Awful_ , his brain answered, _I think they’re already scarred for life-_

“They’re, uh, adjusting,” he says out loud, then frowns, “They keep calling me ‘sir’.”

Yuuri looks up, pausing in the middle of wriggling into his leggings, “Isn’t…that a good thing?”

“Makes me feel old,” Victor grumbled, “I haven’t been a Captain for more than a decade.”

“They’re showing you the respect you’ve earned,” Yuuri reassured him, going back to hiking up the waistband of his bottoms.

“But _Yuu_ ri,” Victor whined, “when they call me ‘sir’ it means I’m a responsible authority figure. I can’t be a responsible authority figure! I’m only fifty-two!”

Yuuri chuckles, “I guess you’ll have to get used to it, Captain.” 

Victor pouts at his retreating back, then his gaze inevitably slides a little lower and becomes more appreciative. Gods, he’ll never get tired of the sight of that ass in leggings.

After a light breakfast they leave for the gym, and it doesn’t occur to Victor that he probably should’ve warned Yuuri about the potential chaos waiting for them until they’re already at the door and his partner has a foot inside the building.

Mila and the two trainees are in the makeshift boxing ring in the middle of the gym floor. She’s got them both upside down, an ankle held in each hand while she lectures them, “Honestly you two, that was just pathetic. I expected better.” Minami’s face is already an alarming shade of red while Emil’s wars between panic and resignation, more so the latter when he sees Victor standing there.

Georgi’s standing just outside the ring, facepalming, “Mila, this isn’t what we agreed on-“

Mila spots them standing by the door and she sets down the two trainees, “Yuuri!” cutting Georgi’s lecture off at the ankles. Victor glances aside at his partner who looks torn between outright disapproval, concern, and calm reassurance.

“You shouldn’t be back so soon,” Mila said, wrapping him up in a brief but near-crushing hug before pulling back to look at him, “What happened?”

“I-“

“A very interesting and colorful story that can most certainly wait until we’re back at the office, Milochka,” Victor interrupted.

“I’m already intrigued,” Georgi said, approaching with a critical medical-examiner eye, “Are you hurt? Any injuries?”

“Just emotional ones,” Yuuri joked. The moment he realizes something’s off with Mila’s features is obvious: he pauses and tilts his head with a considering frown, “What happened to your-?”

“It’s really good to see you!” Mila said loudly, “There are a couple of people you should meet.” She gestures over her shoulder and Victor raises both eyebrows at the trainees who’ve picked themselves up and dusted themselves off. He blinks and suddenly, the chicken nugget is across the room, eyes practically sparkling with excitement.

“Oh, hi,” Yuuri said, polite as ever, “you must be Kenjirou Minami. I’m-“

“Special Agent Dr. Katsuki,” Minami half-squeaked before snapping into a rigid salute, “Sir!” Victor glances at Mila, wondering if he should be acutely concerned at the way Minami is vibrating.

“Oh,” Yuuri starts, “You don’t have to call me doctor, just Yuuri is fine-“

Victor immediately recognizes the look on Minami’s face and realizes that looking politely horrified is a particular talent that the Japanese must have. The young recruit waves his hands frantically, “Oh no no, I couldn’t possibly-“ he trails off into a babble of scandalized Japanese. Victor manages to pick out the word ‘impossible’ several times.

“Oh, so he can’t call you ‘Doctor’ but he can call me ‘Captain’?” Victor said to Yuuri.

“That’s right!” Mila said cheerfully, then turned to Minami, nodding her chin at the two co-Captains, “Technically you should call him Captain too.”

“I thought Captain Nikiforov was Captain?” Emil asked slowly.

“He is,” Georgi and Mila say in unison.

“Yuuri’s my co-Captain,” Victor says with a smile.

“I didn’t know they could do that,” Emil said.

“You can’t, but Victor did,” Mila deadpanned.

“Well,” Victor claps his hands, “let’s chat about why we’re here, shall we?” His lieutenant makes a gesture that’s the equivalent of ‘by all means’ and Victor looks at the recruits, “We’re short on time so I’ll make this quick: Minami, you rely too much on your magic and I want to see how you fight without it.”

“Spoiler alert,” Mila raises her hand, wiggling her fingers, “he kind of sucks.” Minami’s face falls a bit and Yuuri gives her a disapproving frown.

“Emil,” Victor continues cheerfully, “we’ll start small, but I want you to get accustomed to using your magic.” The teenager goes abruptly pale, but he puts on a determined face anyway and gives Victor a nod. “First things first, Minami? Step onto the mat, please.”

The chicken nugget looks wary but nods and walks over to the mat. Victor makes to follow but Yuuri grips his arm to stop him. “Hm?” Victor hummed.

“Let me?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course,” Victor inclined his head, and admires the flex of Yuuri’s muscles through the material of the leggings.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” Mila hip-checked him.

“Mmm, five more minutes,” Victor said saucily, burning Yuuri’s glorious butt into his retinas. Mila chortles next to him and he can hear her rolling her eyes.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, “Show me how you punch.”

“U-um,” Minami blinked, his stance loose and taut all at once with hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri said, holding up his hands, “You won’t hurt me. We just want to see your form.”

Minami still looks hesitant to punch his idol, but Victor sees the moment he steels himself. The chicken nugget’s fist barely makes a sound when it hits Yuuri’s palm and Victor frowns.

“I told you,” Mila sang quietly.

“Oh, hush,” Victor told her, then stepped onto the mat behind Minami to correct his form, poking a firm finger into the small of his back until he adjusts his posture. “You’re not throwing enough of your weight into your hits,” he counseled, “Don’t go for a head strike. The skull is built to take a hit.”

“You’ll just hurt yourself,” Yuuri agreed.

“That’s why you aim for the soft parts,” Victor advised cheerfully, “Fight dirty. All’s fair in love and war.” He steps back off the mat and Minami, looking slightly overwhelmed, tries to throw another punch.

“Better,” Yuuri said.

With Minami in Yuuri’s capable hands, Victor pulls Emil aside into a part of the gym that’s been specially Warded.

“I’m, um, I’m not so sure about…using my magic in here,” Emil informs him shakily.

“Not to worry,” Victor said brightly and taps the floor with his foot, giving the hidden Wards some of his magic causing them to flare bright gold, “This is a safety mechanism put in place. If I activate it, it will forcibly cut off your connection to your magic. Not very pleasant, but effective.” Emil, at least, looks a bit comforted by that. “Now, I don’t want to see anything fancy. Just activate your affinity.”

The apprehension returns to the nineteen-year-old’s face, but he stands within the boundaries of the Wards, face screwed up in concentration as he conjures a light breeze. Victor tilts his head, mildly concerned when it doesn’t appear like Emil’s even breathing. “Stop,” he says. The breeze doesn’t die out straight away, but Emil’s chest is heaving like he’s called up a storm. “That was an awful lot of concentration for something so small.”

“I…I didn’t want it to get out of control, sir,” Emil explained.

“It would’ve been fine if it did. There are three capable practitioners here,” Victor said, gesturing to his cohorts, “Now, when you’re using your affinity what are you thinking about?”

“The magic? I guess?” Emil frowned.

“Eh, it’s a start,” Victor said, “Wind is finicky.” He holds up his hand and summons the tiniest tornado to spin delicately on the tip of his index finger, “influenced by a great deal many factors. So, I encourage you to think separately of your emotions when using it. If that helps, then more power to you. If not, well, we’ll keep working on it.”

He doesn’t expect for Emil to make progress right away and already he’s pushing back his plans to take them on a Hunt. They’d be too much of a liability as green as they are, and Victor knows the odds of surviving the fight will increase without the two recruits there.

The two hours Victor generously allotted for training goes by quickly and he can tell that Yuuri’s thoughts are elsewhere by the time he announces that it’s time to get back to proper work.

“You did great today,” Yuuri is telling Minami, “We’ll turn you into a combat-proficient Hunter in no time.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say ‘proficient’,” Mila said, “At the very least you’ll learn how to dodge.” she pointedly punches her palm and Minami goes pale.

“Stop scaring the youngins,” Georgi scolded.

Mila rolled her eyes, “Yes, _mom_.”

“Yuuri and I will meet you back at the office,” Victor says, “There’s something we have to take care of first.”

Mila gives them both an exasperated look, “You guys were already late. Didn’t you get it out of your system already?”

“My thirst for Yuuri will never waver or wane,” Victor said proudly, “But we’re not sneaking off to have sex-”

“Victor!” Yuuri hissed, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment.

“For your information, we’re going to Berlin,” Victor said, “Yuuri has to meet up with his contact there.”

Mila squints at them, “Okay,” she allowed, “If you’re not back within an hour I’m hunting you both down. Got it?”

Victor snapped a rigid salute.

“And call us if you need anything,” Georgi added.

Instead of the openly hostile atmosphere of the western side of the city, Victor looks out of the mouth of the alley to the very mundane crowd passing in an out of the train station across the street. Yuuri explains that Jaxon had given him instructions to leave his personal affects in a locker within the train station. “I put my Tags there too after Gin told me being caught with them would get me killed on sight,” Yuuri said.

“The Tags make sense,” Victor said, “the phone, I disagree with.”

“We had to eliminate any possibility of my cover being blown,” Yuuri said, shutting the locker and turning the key.

“You had your phone with you in Bratislava and you were fine,” Victor argued, following him out of the train station, “It just makes things more complicated. You don’t have Gin’s number or any other way of getting in contact with her.”

“Okay,” Yuuri conceded, “You made your point.”

The building where the OSC Agent lives is among the slightly less shoddy in the shoddier part of the city. He follows close behind Yuuri, hypervigilant as they take the stairs to the third floor. Victor tenses when Yuuri opens the door to what’s supposed to be Gin’s flat, aether curling between his fingers.

“Gin?” Yuuri calls out, “Are you home?”

Victor gives the appallingly ugly couch the side-eye as he nudges the door shut behind them. The flat is small but clean, with a miniscule kitchen and no dining area to speak of. The living room is occupied by aforementioned couch and an old TV set. There aren’t any pictures or personal touches – as is fitting for a miniscule flat occupied by an undercover agent.

“Could she have gone out for the day?” Victor asked when a peek into the singular bedroom reveals nothing but an unmade bed and scattered cosmetics across the vanity.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri muttered, “I…something doesn’t feel right.”

“I suppose we better look for her then,” Victor said, “to put your mind at ease.”

He finds a hairbrush with a copious amount of bright pink hair in the bristles and he hands it to Yuuri, “That should do the trick, don’t you think?”

Yuuri takes the brush and plucks some of the hair out of the bristles, rolling the gathered lock between his fingers, and Victor watches him write a complicated sequence with tireless fascination. The addition of Gin’s hair causes the runes to burn a bright copper and melt together until they form a seamless circle. The air inside ripples like water and he exchanges a look with Yuuri before they both step through.

Victor knows something is very wrong when there’s nothing but a grimy dumpster on the other side. His first impulse is to shield Yuuri from what they’ll find, if only to spare him the pain of finding his friend left to die in the trash.

“Yuuri-,“ he begins, reaching out to stop his partner from climbing into the dumpster. To his relief, Yuuri stops at just peering inside and Victor goes to his side. Among the bin bags and rotting food there’s a splash of bright bubblegum pink. The girl’s eyes are milky and unseeing, and from what he can see she was shot execution style.

“Is that her?” he asked quietly and Yuuri nods.

“We’re not leaving her here,” Yuuri says hoarsely, “We can’t.”

Victor reaches for his phone to make the necessary call.

“Victor?” Georgi asked.

“Georgi,” Victor replied, ignoring Mila’s loud inquiries in the background, “We need a coroner.”

There’s a shuffling noise in his ear and the sound of Georgi protesting before Mila’s voice comes flooding out of the speaker, “What the hell happened?”

“Jaxon’s plant was murdered,” Victor said grimly, “Chop chop, Gosha.” He ends the call and tucks the phone away, so he has both hands free to pull Yuuri away from the dumpster and the sight of his contact’s corpse. Yuuri’s expression is nothing short of devastated.

“It’s my fault,” Yuuri says hoarsely, “He killed her because of me-“

“You don’t know that,” Victor said firmly, “This could be entirely unrelated-“

Yuuri shakes his head, “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“I’m not saying it is,” Victor told him, “I’m only saying we don’t know the facts yet. Mikhail is not the type to kill out of spite.”

“I guess you would know,” Yuuri said, “Since he is your brother.”

Georgi arrives with his entourage of hastily suited-up analysts. Two CSIs in sterile body suits extract Gin’s body from the dumpster and set her in a sterile body bag. A third snaps photos and a fourth quickly, but carefully, collects samples.

“It doesn’t look like she was killed here,” Victor tells him, “I think this was where they dumped her.”

“Sloppily too,” Georgi agreed, “This cartel been meticulous and organized up to this point.” he squats down next to the body bag and starts a cursory examination. His gloved hands prod clinically at dark bruises and congealed abrasions, “She put up a fight.”

Victor glances at Yuuri who’s back to looking quite devastated, “You can give us the rest later, Gosha.”

“I already know cause of death,” Georgi said, zipping up the bag and standing, “My only question is who’s going to tell Jaxon.”

“I will,” Yuuri said, his voice surprisingly flinty. Victor opens his mouth to protest then shuts it, exchanging a look with Georgi.

“We’ll see you back at the office, yes?” Victor said.

“Yeah,” Georgi said, and his gaze pointedly flicks to Yuuri before he goes back to helping the other analysts wrap up and get the body transported.

Yuuri is understandably tense, even when they’re back in the chaos of the EBHQ lobby, waiting for the elevator. The silence between them is stone cold and Victor starts to sweat underneath his layers. Twice he almost opens his mouth to ask if Yuuri is upset with him for being so callous.

The eleventh floor where Jaxon’s office is located is quiet save for the occasional ringing of desk phones and a printer loudly spitting out copies. His face scrunches in distaste on reflex when he hears Jaxon’s smarmy laugh down the hall. The door to Jaxon’s office is open and he’s on the phone, clearly back from some kind of meeting based on his tacky button down and plain department store tie. Victor takes a vindictive satisfaction in the way all mirth dies when he sees Yuuri and Victor in his doorway.

“Uh…I’ll call you back,” Jaxon mutters into the receiver and hangs up, “What the hell is going on? You’re supposed to be in Berlin-“

“I was made,” Yuuri said.

“Well, so?” Jaxon exclaimed, “Why didn’t you contact anyone? You’ve deserted your post-“

“Captain Katsuki,” Victor emphasized, “is not one of your subordinates. His role was entirely voluntary; therefore, he does not subscribe to OSC protocol. If he had, he’d be as dead as your agent.”

“Dead?” Jaxon repeatedly hoarsely.

“Gin was found this morning,” Yuuri said solemnly, “CSI is running an autopsy right now.”

Jaxon scrubs a hand over his face, “I didn’t think they’d go that far-“

“If you’d had someone running point,” Yuuri snapped, “you’d know their operation was growing exponentially. A mole would’ve been seen as an immediate threat to their success.”

“I-“

“And you _left_ her there,” Yuuri’s voice breaks and Victor reaches for his hand, “She kept trying to get in contact with you, but there was _no one_.” The fact that Jaxon looks so ashamed of himself has Victor strangely proud of Yuuri. Getting such an arrogant jackass to reflect on his actions is truly an incredible feat. “She was an amazing Exorcist. And now she’s gone.” Yuuri turns abruptly and leaves, leaving Victor to hurry after him, their hands still joined.

“Yuuri?” Victor asked when they come to a stop at the elevator.

Yuuri sniffles and wipes at his eyes, “I’m so _mad_ right now. If I hadn’t been so selfish-“

“Oh,” Victor sighed, “Yuuri no. You’re not-“

“If I hadn’t just ran,” Yuuri cried, “she might still be alive.”

Victor glances around and then ushers them into the elevator. He pushes the button to close the doors and then another for their floor.

“You don’t know that,” Victor said, “Mikhail has a penchant for playing mind games. You mustn’t blame yourself. If we’re going to place blame, we place it with Jaxon and his negligence.”

Yuuri sniffled hard, the tears unabating, and Victor’s heart sank, hating to see him so upset and in pain. He conjures a tissue and dabs at Yuuri’s eyes, “We’ll make sure her killer sees justice, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri answered wetly and Victor draws him in for a tight hug.

“I promise,” Victor murmured into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when losing your job is the only reason you're able to write so much...Never fear friends! I found a new job almost immediately after being displaced from my old one! (Job hunting still sucks tho...) 
> 
> I wanted to get this out to you guys before RL chaos resumes again. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated! <3


	10. Tennis. Tennis? Tennis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of blood and description of corpses

_October 2024; European Branch Headquarters - Geneva_

Mila’s at the SmartBoard, making changes to the minefield of notes they’d put together. Minami and Emil are both at their desks; the former appears to be poring over pages upon pages of notes gathered from his time perusing the Asian Branch’s materials while Emil is flipping through a file, making annotations with a highlighter. Georgi looks like he’s taking a much-needed breather, sipping on a piping hot cup of tea whilst leaning against the edge of his desk.

“I have news!” she announced, turning to look at them then pausing when she sees Yuuri’s red-rimmed eyes, “Oh. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Yuuri just nods mutely and wipes at his eyes with Victor’s handkerchief, “I’ll be okay,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse from crying. Victor gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“What’s the news, Milochka? Anything interesting?”

“Lenz cracked,” Mila said.

Victor blinked, “Already? I thought he’d have more resolve than that.”

“Apparently he was offered better amenities if he cooperated,” Emil piped up, voice dry as he says, “Nothin’ says ‘spoiled’ like, ‘Give me prime rib while I’m in prison’.”

“Okay, so…what did he say?” Yuuri prompted.

“He confessed to having a partner,” Mila said, then rolled her eyes, “Obviously, we already knew that. He states, and I quote,” she clears her throat, “’I was just a third-party. I had nothing to do with the manufacturing process’. Which, we also already knew.”

“Okay, so is there anything new that we _don’t_ know?” Victor asked, taking off his jacket and throwing it over the back of his desk chair.

Mila sighed, “ _He_ says he never met directly with the manufacturer, he only met with a liaison in charge of distributing the drug.” Victor and Yuuri exchange a look. “He described him as, and I quote, ‘Tall guy with dark hair’, like that’s any help.”

“Did he give us a name?” Victor asked.

“’Something that started with a ‘D’’,” Mila quoted dryly, “’I’m terrible with names, sorry’.”

“How did this guy manage to get as far as he did?” Emil asked.

“Idiots are like cockroaches,” Victor said, “they’re too stupid to quit.”

“Unfortunately, that’s all the useful stuff OSC managed to get out of him for the time being,” Mila said, crumpling the interview transcript and tossing it straight in the bin, “Jaxon thinks we should take a crack at him soon.”

“Jaxon is currently on my shit list,” Yuuri said coolly, “he’s botched this enough. We do the rest of this our way until he gets his head out of his ass.”

Mila stares at him with wide-eyed surprise, failing to hide how pleased she is when she says, “Well, what did you have in mind, El Capitan?”

“The kingpin operates solely out of Berlin,” Yuuri said, striding forward and picking up one of the SmartPens, “and goes by the name ‘Frown’. He has two right-hand cronies, one of whom matches the description helpfully given to us. His name’s Dmitri.”

“He Russian?” Mila asked flatly.

“He is,” Yuuri said, “and he’s a pig by the way, so when we arrest him stay out of arms’ reach.”

Victor manages to keep his reaction limited to a politely surprised blink at the SmartBoard. Yuuri’s not looking at him, and Victor knows that his boyfriend purposefully left out the part where he was fending off unwanted advances to keep him from going to Berlin and stringing this Dmitri fellow up by his innards. 

The front doors to their office swing open wide and bounce off the stoppers. Yakov pauses at the threshold, “Oh good. You’re all here.”

“Your dramatic entrances are getting better, Yakov,” Victor commented with a smile.

Yakov doesn’t look like he appreciates the compliment, “Gear up. All of you. Dispatch just received a distress call from Team Kennedy in Dublin.”

Mila frowned and looked at the tiny screen attached to her wrist, “Well, that’s weird, we didn’t receive an SMS-“ their smartwatches all vibrate in tandem as if on cue, “There it is.” she taps the tiny screen with her finger, undoubtedly hitting ‘Accept’ on the request.

“Time to go to work,” Georgi sighed, straightening and setting his mug on his desk.

Yakov hands Minami and Emil two black bundles with a grunt and the two recruits exchange looks filled with understandable uncertainty.

“Any details on the particular demon we’re dealing with?” Victor asked Yakov.

“Just that it’s a Class Five,” Yakov said grimly, “Stay sharp.”

The growly old Exorcist makes his comparatively lackluster exit by slouching into his office and shutting the door with a definitive snap.

“Well, that’s just maddeningly unhelpful,” Mila grumbled.

“Come on you two, I’ll show you where we get changed,” Georgi said, directing the trainees to walk in front of him and he gives the rest of them a pointed very alarmed look as he walks them out of the office.

“Fuck,” Mila groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead, “we do not need this right now.”

Victor rubbed his temples, “Minami and Emil should stay behind. They’re too green to be useful-“

“If we leave them behind it’ll be a bad look,” Yuuri said.

“And so will burying them after they’ve only been here a week,” Victor said bluntly and Yuuri flinched.

“Minami’s raw firepower may be useful,” Mila suggested.

Victor sighed, “Let’s just…get changed. I’ll figure something out.”

Georgi is in the process of walking the two trainees through a crash course in Hunting gear. He’s showing them both how to properly secure the straps, lace up their boots, and activate the armored fibers woven into the overcoat.

“You’re allowed to make mods as long as they’re within reason,” Georgi explains, pointing to his gauntlets as an example, “Yuuri Warded these for me to prevent magic leeching on Hunts.”

“Th-that’s a thing?” Emil asked, freezing in the middle of tying his laces.

“Not often,” Victor said.

“I’m a Mance witch,” Georgi supplied.

“Parasitic types seek him out like a missile,” Yuuri added, drawing his regular Wards around his eyes.

“Now, did you both eat breakfast this morning?” Georgi asks, redirecting the conversation.

“I did,” Minami said cheerfully, raising his hand, “Grilled salmon, miso soup, and rice.”

“Uh…I had a protein shake?” Emil shrugged.

“Eh, that’ll do,” Georgi said, “Remember, a balanced diet is important for moments just like this.”

“Well said Gosha,” Victor praised, sitting down to take off his shoes.

“Um…what happens now, sir?” Minami asked, his vibrant hair contrasting sharply with the rest of him in combat black.

“We wait for dispatch to send us the coordinates,” Victor said, pulling his nanofiber shirt over his head and shoving his arms into the sleeves, “Now, have you two relieved yourselves?”

Minami and Emil exchanged an apprehensive look then shook their heads.

“I suggest going. It’s always beneficial to have an empty bladder,” Victor said cheerfully, “Go on. Shoo.”

He sinks onto the bench with a sigh once they’re gone and starts pulling his combat boots on, tugging the laces to make sure it’s snug before securing the straps. Yuuri sits next to him, his glasses already put away and his cinnamon eyes clear, his gaze is intent and sharp.

“I have an idea,” Yuuri said, “for including them but keeping them safely out of the way while we do the heavy lifting.”

Gratitude sooths Victor’s jagged insides and he lets out a sigh, “Did I tell you how glad I am that you’re back?”

“You could stand to mention it again,” Yuuri said, obviously amused before he sobers, “You said Minami has a lot of firepower?”

“Mm,” Victor nods, “Literally. I’ll have to show you the footage.”

“We’ll need a barrier to keep the site contained,” Yuuri said, “and the barrier will need batteries.”

“Brilliant,” Victor said. Their smartwatches buzz and they both glance at the SMS from dispatch, “That’s our cue.”

Yuuri smooths his hair out of his eyes and Victor ties his back into a stubby ponytail at the base of his neck. The others are waiting just outside the changing rooms, the six of them twinning in combat black. Victor doesn’t ask if they’re ready; he glances at the coordinates then opens a Portal.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” Mila said flatly.

Victor narrows his eyes at the gates of the old theme park – completely abandoned. Shapes loom out of the dark. Odd towering structures reaching into the starry sky. The Irish suburb lays behind them, lights twinkling invitingly in the distance.

There’s a thin layer of malice covering the gate but it’s enough to prod Victor’s senses into waving red flags. The weak magical signatures inside flicker and beat like moths’ wings and he exchanges a grim look with his counterparts.

His partner begins to write in the air, Wards burning a bright purple as they form a ring and begin to grow and grow. Victor watches, tirelessly riveted, as Yuuri’s barrier grows large enough to encompass the grounds.

“The barrier will keep the site contained,” Victor said, handing out comms units, “Our main objective is to find and eliminate the target.”

“What about any survivors?” Minami asked, his hand halfway to his ear.

“There are none,” Victor said grimly, feeling the last signature fade from his awareness.

“Shit,” Mila quietly swore.

“Minami and Emil?” Yuuri said, “Your elemental magics will keep the barrier intact. Here, and here.” he points, directing them where to stand, “If you move or get killed, the barrier will lock in place and become a permanent Cage. Understood?”

The two trainees both look vaguely alarmed but, to Victor’s surprise, visibly steel their resolve and give Yuuri stiff determined nods.

“Comms on,” Victor prompted, tapping his ear.

“Here,” Mila said.

“Here,” Yuuri parroted.

“Present,” Georgi said.

“Here,” Minami squeaked.

“Here, sir,” Emil said.

“Stay sharp,” Victor said, “We’re in for a brutal fight.” He looks at the two trainees, “Don’t get killed.” 

“No pressure or anything,” Mila muttered with a roll of her eyes, strolling up to the gates and cleanly scaling the chain link fence. She lands nimbly on the other side and Victor is the first to follow after her, swinging his leg over the top and dropping soundlessly to the grass below. He looks up at the black sky, peppered with faintly twinkling stars, unable to see Yuuri’s barrier but he can feel it.

If he can feel it, then so can their quarry.

He turns to face the fairgrounds, suppressing a shiver of foreboding. The four of them exchange a grim look, take a step forward, and hit a wall of malice.

His teeth are buzzing and the aether is steadily leaking between his fingers, tickling the back of his hands and his wrists. The others aren’t much better off; Mila’s fangs are completely unsheathed, poking into her bottom lip while her hands clutch the weapon the aether has given her, Georgi’s face is completely white, and Yuuri’s set his jaw though he’s got his magic on a tight leash to keep it from rising against the perceived threat.

They take a step forward, ignoring the strong ‘I’m going to fucking die’ sensation. Soft grass eventually gives way to paths worn flat by tromping feet. The packed dirt muffles their footsteps, and the amusement park is all the more eerie for it.

Malice saturates the air, making it virtually impossible to pinpoint where their quarry might be.

“Well,” he finally mutters, “no use creeping around in the dark.”

He casts his magic out and the lights come up in quadrants. Distantly he can hear carnival music, upbeat and tinkly through very old speakers that crackle with age.

“Ah, much better,” Victor says, then freezes when he realizes his compatriots aren’t there. He turns slowly, scanning the shadows with his heart in his throat. “Mila? Yuuri? Georgi?”

Of course, there’s no answer even as he raises his voice and calls out a second, then a third time.

It’s definitely the fastest they’ve ever been separated. _A new record!_ he thinks.

His senses are bombarded with the demon’s presence, overpowering any magical signature within a ten-mile radius and he clenches his jaw before pulling back his awareness and walking further into the jungle of cheerful music and bright colorful lights.

Some of the game stalls have moving parts with obviously rusted mechanics. His hands are still steadily leaking aether and he allows it to coalesce into a shape, arching an eyebrow when he ends up holding an assault rifle.

“Fine,” he sighs quietly, “I suppose it’ll do for now.”

The butt of the gun rests comfortably on his shoulder and he keeps the muzzle pointed at the ground. He pauses when he reaches the midway, sniffing twice.

 _Popcorn?_ he wonders, then takes another deep inhale picking up the smell of something deep fried and delicious. His hears something else too underneath the tinkly music from the game stalls, separate from the distant canned screams from the rides.

_. . . darling, you’re a holy quarantine . . ._

_. . . new romantic Philistine . . ._

He looks up at the old speakers mounted on a pole and steps a little closer.

_. . . Oh, we can turn around, we can burn this town to ash . . ._

The music follows him as he heads further down the midway, passing rides with pre-recorded safety messages on loop.

_“Please remove all loose articles of clothing, including hats, sunglasses, handbags…”_

He swallows hard when he finds a gun lying in the middle of the weed-pocked path. Aether-made, it’s fuzzy and indistinct around the edges and Victor knows the Exorcist connected to the weapon is hanging by a thread. His gait becomes cautious, scanning every nearby shadow and hidden nook for a sign of his fallen fellow.

Collapsed against what looks like an old doughnut stall is a figure in black. Victor tilts his head and squats in front of the Exorcist, keeping one hand on his rifle while he reaches out to do a cursory vitals check. He knows there’s not much he can do when he sees the dried tracks of blood coming from both ears and nostrils. There’s hardly any pulse against his fingertips and he pulls his hand away with a sigh. He reaches for the ball chain partially hidden under the collar of the Exorcist’s gear, even though he already knows who it is by the red Captain’s armband on the department issued jacket.

KEEGAN

1109856794

A-5-H

He must have just paged dispatch for backup before he began to succumb to the demon’s Thrall.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” he tells his fellow Captain, “Rest now. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Keegan’s gun finally dissolves into formless smoke and disappears. Victor neatly pockets the fallen’s Tags to return to his next of kin, wishing they could do him the courtesy of extracting his body, but he has to find his members and the target.

_. . . Beautiful quarantine . . ._

_. . . Circumvent me . . ._

He stands to continue his Hunt down the midway, pausing when the shadows suddenly seem more elongated. A foreboding chill prickles at the back of his neck and creeps down his spine. His grip instinctively tightens on the gun and a sound breaks through the white carnival noise – a scream.

“Mila,” he murmured, breaking into a run, his grip on the rifle going tight. “MILA!”

“VICTOR!”

He follows her voice to the rollercoaster, frantically scanning the tracks for her bright red hair and he sees her, struggling to get out of a narrow gap between the slats on the rollercoaster tracks. The canned screams play out through the ride’s speakers as the cart clickety-clacks at breakneck speed through the loop. The control panel is too far away, and he throws his magic out to try and stall the switch keeping the ride going.

Predictably, it does nothing and Mila is still stuck on the tracks very much in the way of the very heavy car.

He hops over the turnstiles, the rifle dissolving as he breaks all the safety rules and starts scaling the rollercoaster tracks to get to his lieutenant before she’s broken in half by a demonic ride. He pulls all the nearby moisture from the air and summons the coldest wind to create a short wall of ice, several feet from where Mila is struggling to extricate herself from a narrow gap in between the ties.

“I can’t get out,” she told him.

“How in the hell did you get up here?” Victor asked, “ _Lucerna_.” He directs the light to where her arms are pinned to her sides and her body is being squeezed by the ties.

“This fucking demon’s been playing with my head, Victor,” Mila said, voice tight with pain and she sucked in another sharp breath. Victor can see the gap narrowing further and her fangs are gritted with the pain, “I thought I heard Georgi’s voice coming from the haunted house ride, next thing I know I’m fucking _stuck_.”

He won’t be able to physically pull her out from the tightening gap. His only choice is to break the ties and he can hear his ice barrier starting to splinter and thaw. He moves fast, petrifying the wood to make it brittle, “Okay. Ready?”

“Yes! Just hurry up!”

The aether gives him his rifle back and he uses the reinforced butt of the gun to snap the ties and Mila falls through the widened gap to the ground below just as the possessed ride breaks through his ice and he jumps out of the way. He rolls through the impact with the ground, getting to his feet and giving himself a shake.

Mila lifts her shirt with a grimace to prod gently at the angry red welts circling her ribcage and Victor hisses with sympathy when one begins to ooze dark blood, thick and sluggish.

“We’d better find the others,” Victor said.

“How did it manage to separate us so easily?” Mila ranted, adjusting her cropped jacket so it sits properly on her shoulders.

“If I had to guess,” Victor said, directing his little light to float above them and keep them encompassed in a protective dome, “it got inside our heads before we even hopped the fence-“

He spots the silhouette of another crumpled figure just outside the light’s reach and they step a little closer. The young Exorcist’s legs are laying at awkward angles and her eyes are already clouded, milky. Like Captain Keegan, there’s matching tracks of dried blood from her ears and nostrils. Unlike Keegan, she also has red tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

Mila quietly clicks her tongue in sympathy and kneels to reclaim her Tags. “It’s a pity we can’t give them a proper burial.”

“Mm,” Victor quietly agreed.

Their first priority is staying alive and toting dead bodies is counterproductive to that goal.

They link arms to avoid getting separated as they step back out onto the midway.

_. . . and the nights they last forever . . ._

_. . . in the dark, we laugh together . . ._

He’s being mocked. He knows he is.

“If I were a demon, where would I go?” Victor asked aloud.

“I wouldn’t be holed up in an abandoned amusement park,” Mila said, “What kind of demon holes up here anyway?”

“A hungry one,” Victor replied. These grounds are saturated with human emotions, though long abandoned and their quarry has undoubtedly been using the old memories attached to the rides and stalls as an appetizer with the Hunters that have fallen before its parasitic Thrall acting as the main course.

_Does that make us the dessert?_

The music and canned screams from the rides are starting to annoy him and he’s about to suggest they go look somewhere quieter when Mila stops and looks up. He follows her gaze to a pill-shaped cage swinging on the end of a long arm in midair and he realizes that there are screams that don’t fit in with the pre-recorded sounds crackling through the speakers, distant and discordant.

“How much do you wanna bet Georgi’s up there?” Mila asked.

“I won’t take that bet,” Victor idly answered, “I’d lose.”

They hop the turnstiles and Mila goes to the control panel, pushing buttons and slapping the side of the rusted box but the ride doesn’t move. Victor cups his hands around his mouth and calls up to Georgi, “Gosha! We’re going to get you down!”

“Victor?” Georgi’s voice echoes from so far up, “Is that you?”

“No, it’s the boogey man,” Mila rolled her eyes, stepping back to give the control panel a kick, “Godsdammit! _Work!_ ”

“Georgi! Listen to me!” Victor yelled, “Can you open the door?”

“Are you _insane?_ ” Georgi screeched back, the cage precariously still at least twelve feet in the air.

Victor winced and looked at Mila who looks like she’s given up on trying to wrangle the control panel into submission.

“I’ll go get him,” she grumbled, walking up to the ride and starting to scale the arm. 

“ _Lucerna_ ,” Victor murmured and makes the light big enough for her to see by before having it follow her up.

“Thank you!” she calls over her shoulder. Victor watches her and anxiously wonders what happened to Yuuri.

He knows the trainees are safe, anchoring the barrier with their magic but Yuuri’s out there by himself. Victor scans the stalls behind him, his eyes tracing every elongated shadow, every odd silhouette that snags his gaze. Above him, Georgi squeals and Mila is shouting, “Just hold on to me you big baby!”

“You know I hate heights!” Georgi shouts.

“Then close your eyes and think of England!”

Victor finally manages to look back at his two compatriots and he can see that Mila’s got Georgi attached to her back like a baby chimpanzee while she carefully picks her way down. Halfway down, there’s a metallic creak and the ride begins to move.

“Hey Victor!” Mila said, “Catch!”

Victor flicks his wrist, increasing the air resistance just enough to cushion Georgi’s fall. The analyst still screams the whole way down. Georgi’s face is white with terror and he’s shaking like a leaf. Mila lands neatly, “Well, that was fun.”

“Never again,” Georgi shivered, “Never never never.”

“Come along, Gosha,” Victor sighed, striding over and physically standing him up, “Let’s go find Yuuri-“

The demon’s presence suddenly disappears, sucked up into a vacuum and Victor _feels_ Yuuri’s magic even through his shuttered senses.

Yuuri’s started the Exorcism and it burns white hot.

His co-Captain’s Wards light up the night sky shining an ominous neon purple and the music crackling through the speakers becomes warped.

_. . . disseminate disease . . ._

_. . . doing – please. . ._

Victor doesn’t think. He runs. He’s vaguely aware of Mila calling out after him but all he can think about is Yuuri attempting to finish the Binding _by himself_.

“Victor! Victor _wait_ dammit!”

He most certainly doesn’t wait before bursting into the funhouse. Sweat immediately beads along his hairline in the sudden sweltering heat and he wrinkles his nose, assaulted by the stink of gasoline, deep fried food, and melting plastic.

He fights his way through the purposefully ridiculous layout of the ride to find Yuuri in the hall of mirrors, voice raised as he recites the Binding over the crackle of noxious green flame. In the center of the burning ring is the demon wearing Keegan’s face. Victor doesn’t call out lest he distract his partner and disrupt the delicate Binding. He joins the chant quietly, adding his magic to the spell and the demon changes form.

It’s given up any pretense of being an innocent human or fellow Exorcist, realizing that the two Hunters have caught on to its tricks now. Keegan’s features melt away, smoothing into white white skin, uninterrupted save for two eyes black as a void. There’s no mouth that Victor can see, and its easily seven feet tall. Its naked form is humanoid and skeletal – so much so, he can see the ridges of what must be a spine through the otherwise smooth expanse of stomach.

He can feel his lips moving, forming the words of the Binding, but a ringing steadily fills his ears the longer he stays stuck in the tractor beam void of their quarry’s eyes.

_Stop this._

He gives his head a shake. He can feel that same malice from earlier pressing on the boundaries on the Trap, but it doesn’t break through. He can see the chains forming, snaking up stick thin limbs and wrapping around a bony chest. The ringing grows louder and louder and through the white noise, more music-

_. . . let me go . . ._

_. . . beautiful . . . circumvent me . . ._

“Victor,” Yuuri grabs his arm urging him towards the exit, “ _Victor!_ We have to go.”

He lets Yuuri tug him back the way he’d come in and he notices that the funhouse is shaking and creaking ominously, demonic malice straining at the edges of the Trap and the Binding Circle alike and the ground hums beneath their feet. For a moment, Victor wonders if that thing will be able to break past both of Yuuri’s spells and unleash its horrible mind-melting vengeance upon them and he very much does not want to be around if it does.

Breaking into a run, he and Yuuri hop the little fence marking the queue to the funhouse and race past a bickering Mila and Georgi.

“What the hell was going on in there?” Mila asked.

“No time!” Victor shouted over his shoulder.

The hum overwhelms his senses, warring magics building into a surge that’ll undoubtedly be felt for miles. The carnival lights blur into an amorphous blob and he can’t hear the cheerful music and wheezing mechanics over his own pulse in his ears. When the gate comes into view, he pours on more speed, nearly bouncing off the chain link fence when he hits it.

The four of them scramble over, landing hard on the other side and startling the two trainees on the other side, still valiantly holding their positions eight feet from the gate.

“Let’s go!” Mila yelled, “Double time! Move!”

Minami and Emil wait until the four of them are well outside the boundaries of the barrier before they start running full tilt after them.

Victor is knocked flat onto his front by the force wave that slams into his back. He lays in the grass for what feels like an hour, gasping air back into his spasming lungs and struggling to at least get on all fours.

Finally – finally – he manages to prop himself up enough to look behind him at the Cage. If he goes cross-eyed, he can see the interlocking Wards forming a tight – and apparently permanent – web around the abandoned fairgrounds.

It reminds him how Yuuri is terrifyingly powerful in ways that Victor struggles to completely understand even after nearly six years together.

He looks at his partner, hunched over and panting in the grass barely two feet away from him and he reaches out, “Yuuri. Are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

“No,” Yuuri replied, cheeks still flushed with exertion, “No I’m alright.”

“Oh good,” Victor sighed.

“I’m fine too, thanks for asking,” Mila said and Victor glances at her. She’s rolled over to lay flat on her back in the grass.

“I’m not,” Georgi declared. His face is smudged with dirt and there’s grass in his hair from where he faceplanted. “I think I might be scarred for life.”

“Oh, please, Gosha. We’ve faced a lot worse than a possessed fun fair,” Mila rolled her eyes.

“Um,” Emil raised his hand, “what happens now?”

“Thank the gods we’re alive,” Georgi deadpanned.

“I was thinking tacos,” Mila said.

“Tacos?” Minami chimed interestedly. His chicken nugget hair is also grass-stained and there’s clumps of dirt sticking to his cheeks.

“I could eat,” Yuuri agreed.

With his Unit apparently in agreement that a celebratory meal is in order, he sighs, “Tacos it is.” and gets to his feet, extending a hand to help Yuuri up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all having a nice start to your holiday season, 'cause at least one of us is having a good time right? Right??? (Send help.) 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated! <3
> 
> Song credits:  
> Clusterhug - I Don't Know How But They Found Me  
> Baby, You're a Haunted House - Gerard Way


	11. Well Well, If It Isn't the Consequences of My Own Actions

_October 2024; European Branch Headquarters – Geneva_

He immediately misses Minami’s loud inane chatter once it’s gone. Without it, the silence in the locker room is stifling and the tension between himself and Victor stretches taut.

Deactivating the augmentation Wards on his eyes he slips his glasses back on and looks at his hands folded loosely in his lap. Putting on his civilian clothes was like coming home after a long night trying to survive a literally mind-melting demon. Each second that drags on in agonizing silence feels like an hour, and he finally turned towards Victor, getting a full uninterrupted view of the strong line of his back and sinuous flex of muscle as he strips out of his shirt. Unable to help himself, his eyes trail from broad shoulders to a remarkably trim waist. He forces himself to compartmentalize his thirst with a short shake of his head.

“You’re angry at me,” he said.

Victor sighs and hangs his head, “No, I’m no-…” he sighs again, “Okay. I’m upset that you tried to finish the Binding by yourself.”

Yuuri nodded, “That’s fair.”

His partner turns to fix him with a look that’s equal parts frosty and hurt, “So, it’s fine for you to jeopardize your health for the sake of the job but when I do it it’s bad?”

“Of course not,” Yuuri sighed, “I just…I didn’t know how far it’d gotten inside your heads. I had to at least Trap it before one of you ended up like Team Keegan.”

He’d seen two members of Keegan’s Unit, bleeding profusely from their ears and nose and realized they were dealing with a rare parasitic type. Demons like that didn’t need to consume the flesh as a medium to get to what they really wanted, instead they could just take directly from the source.

“Then why didn’t you call me?” Victor sighed, taking a seat next to him, “Send up a signal or…something?” Yuuri paused, wracking his brain for a way to say ‘I honestly did not think of that’ without sounding like a space case. “You scared me half to death. Trying to finish a spell that taxing would’ve put you in the hospital. You could’ve _died_.” Victor frowned, “This is odd. Usually _you’re_ the one telling _me_ off for being unnecessarily reckless.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t think of that?” Yuuri grimaced, and his gut twists into mangled knots when he sees the wounded look on Victor’s face get worse.

“Do you…not trust me anymore?”

“Of course, I trust you,” Yuuri said, “It’s myself I don’t trust.”

Victor frowned, “Yuuri, you’re the most capable Hunter I know.” He pauses and lowers his voice, “Don’t tell Mila I said that.” he laces his fingers with Yuuri’s, “You can talk to me, you know. Out of all of us, I’m the least likely to judge.”

“I judge myself,” Yuuri told him, “which is plenty enough.”

“ _Yuu_ ri.”

He sighs and tells himself that he shouldn’t be hiding his feelings after the many many conversations they’ve had about needing to communicate better. “Ever since the weird lunch thing I promised myself I would protect you.”

“Protect me?” Victor blinked.

“Vasily knows what happened. To my last partner,” Yuuri said, “He seemed to think I wasn’t a capable enough partner for you and…in a way I think he might be right.”

“Yuuri, you’re so beyond capable, it fascinates me,” Victor told him, “What you did tonight? I’m _still_ shook. I will probably be shook for the next fifty years.”

Yuuri suppressed an amused snort, “I think you’ve been hanging out with Mila too much.”

Like she’s been summoned, the redhead bursts through the doors of the changing room, her phone clutched tightly between her fingers, “Yuri’s awake!”

Victor straightens, “Since when?”

“Does it matter?” Mila snorted, “Let’s go!” she paused, “Um…put on a shirt first though.” she gives them both a Look on her way out.

“We weren’t-“ Yuuri sighed and gave up, “Oh, nevermind.”

Victor stands to grab his shirt from where he’d stashed his clothes in his locker and Yuuri stares at the doors where they’re still swinging back into place, “What happened to Yuri?”

In his peripherals he sees Victor’s movements become a little rigid with obvious guilt, “Oh, nobody told you?”

“I won’t ask again,” Yuuri said firmly. He watches Victor pull his shirt on and sweep his fringe back into place.

“I don’t know the details,” Victor said, “but Yuri was on a case. Gamma Unit have taken it over now.” Yuuri stares at him hard, using the look he reserves for students when they’re trying to bullshit him. “He got hurt. Badly. After you left, I got a call from Ambrose.”

Injury and death are common in their line of work, but it’s never easy to hear about a friend ending up in the hospital, apparently needing emergency surgery. He’s glad he’s sitting down because his knees would’ve given out otherwise.

“He’s been in a coma since he got out of surgery,” Victor said, “Until now, apparently.”

“Oh, my gods,” Yuuri whispered. “Why didn’t you have me recalled?”

“Jaxon was the only one who knew where you were and how you’d been embedded. I would’ve gotten a message to you otherwise.”

Yuuri knows that being pulled from the field so abruptly after Gin had already found him a way in would’ve disrupted the operation and set them back by several more weeks, if not months. The Exorcist in him says Victor did right by not having him recalled right away, but the rest of him is screaming at the thought of coming back to a funeral.

He finishes getting changed in numb silence, the news sinking its vicious teeth in further when they arrive in Ottawa and the smell of antiseptic invades his senses along with the beeping of monitors and the bland color scheme.

Mila references the group chat to direct them to Yuri’s room and Victor has the honors of knocking when they find it. They all hear the annoyed, “What now?!” and Yuuri’s heart is a little lightened to hear it.

Yuri’s sitting up in bed when the door opens, his expressed pinched with annoyance.

 _No. Not pinched_ , his brain corrects, _He’s lost weight._

 _Too_ much weight. He was already a thin, lanky young man from the start but now he looks like a stick figure. His young friend is so pale if it weren’t for the golden tint of his hair, the multitude of wires, and cheerfully blue hospital gown, he would fade perfectly into the crisp white sheets. There’s a large patch of closely shaven hair and Yuuri can see the thin surgical scar carving a track through the light blonde fuzz. 

His eyes sting and his chest tightens as the first sob involuntarily worms its way past his lips.

Georgi has already burst into noisy tears, face horribly red and splotchy, despite Mila’s loud reassurances.

“Our Little Yuri is tough as nails,” Mila says proudly.

“I’m taller than you,” the young Exorcist growled.

“You’ll always be Little Yuri to me,” she grinned.

Victor chimes in with a, “I must say Yurio, I am _loving_ this new look.”

They’re all glad to see Yuri immediately flip him off with both hands, “Get _bent_ , baldy!”

Yuuri wipes at his eyes, trying to stem the flow of happy tears when Yuri directs his vitriol elsewhere, lobbing the tissue box at Georgi, “And _stop crying!_ ”

“See? I don’t know what you were so worried about. He’s perfectly fine. Just as lively as ever,” Mila says blithely.

Yuuri snags a few tissues to dry his eyes while Georgi loudly blows his nose. The monitor above Yuri’s head dings out a few more warnings about his elevated heart rate, the little number flashing as if to admonish them all for riling up the patient.

“Oh hey, _Otabek_ ,” Mila says, flirtatiously leaning on one of the bedrails as she turns her attention to the young man at Yuri’s bedside, who gives her a perfunctory polite wave in reply, looking almost embarrassed to have been noticed at all and Yuuri’s brain goes, _Same_.

“Are you Yuri’s friend?” Yuuri asked, “I don’t believe we’ve met. You look familiar.” He extends his hand anyway to shake Otabek’s and the young man formally introduces himself. His brain continues to snag on that face, wondering where he’s seen him before.

“So, Otabek,” Mila said, “Why didn’t you tell us you were famous, hmm?”

“You’re famous?” Georgi blurted.

Otabek sheepishly admits that he’s a figure skater but tries to downplay the ‘famous’ part, “It’s kind of a niche-“

Mila isn’t having it, making a point to recite just how famous Otabek is much to the skater’s obvious – and understandable – embarrassment.

“You are so fucking creepy,” Yuri tells her, nose wrinkled with disgust, “Do you Google everyone I associate with?”

“Just the ones that are slightly sus,” Mila said airily, “But it’s okay though, ‘cause he’s hella cute.”

The nurse comes in then, drawn by all the commotion and looks quite unhappy to see them. She tartly informs them that there’s only three visitors allowed on the unit at a time and says they’ll have to leave.

“That’s alright, we were going to get lunch anyway,” Mila says, then looks at Yuri, “We’ll bring you something back, kitten.” She’s on the other side of the bed in a flash, hauling Otabek out of his seat and dragging him towards the door, “Come on Mr. Champion, you’re coming with us.”

Georgi sighs and follows her to make sure she’s not terrorizing the poor young man.

“You have lost a lost of weight,” Yuuri couldn’t help pointing out, “Have you been eating properly?”

He knows the weight loss is an unfortunate side-effect of magical healing. The body ends up cannibalizing itself to support the forced regeneration.

He wants to take Yuri to Hasetsu and let his mother properly fatten him up.

“I eat fine,” Yuri grumbled, “Go on and enjoy your lunch.” the younger Warlock starts channel surfing and Yuuri tries not to feel too hurt at the fact that he’s being dismissed while he turns to go. He pauses when he realizes that Victor isn’t close on his heels and he gives his partner an inquisitive look.

‘Go on ahead,’ Victor mouths.

Yuuri nods and steps outside, letting the door close with a soft snap behind him. He lingers outside, waiting for Victor and the aftermath of whatever talk he needed to have with their former intern. Barely a minute goes by before Victor comes out, somber resignation on his face before it relaxes into cheerful affability.

“What was that about?” Yuuri asked.

“A long overdue discussion, is all,” Victor said, “Shall we, then?”

Minami and Emil are waiting for them at the little Mexican restaurant they’d agreed to earlier. They stare when Mila waltzes in, arm-in-arm with a confused Otabek, before seemingly accepting his presence when they all sit down. The restaurant smells like homemade salsa and comfort food. Delicious smells waft from the double doors leading into the kitchen and Yuuri’s stomach let out a desolate little gurgle, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten in ten hours.

“Now, what should we order for the kitten?” Mila said, opening a menu, “I’m thinking…soup?”

“He hates menudo,” Georgi helpfully reminded her.

Yuuri’s brain strays to the leftovers he’d stashed but he keeps his mouth shut and scans the laminated menu in front of him, his stomach wanting everything he reads about. Eventually, he decides on the taco platter just like Mila and their two trainees.

The vampire sets down her menu, elbows resting on the table and gives Otabek a smile that Yuuri has only seen in the interrogation room. “Now that we’re alone,” she says, “you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”

Otabek pauses, a chip laden with salsa halfway to his mouth, “I’m…sorry?”

“Mila,” Georgi sighed, “It’s been a _very_ long night. Can’t this wait?”

“Silly Gosha, of course it can’t,” Mila said, “I don’t know about you, but I am fucking tired of being kept in the dark.” Her eyes bore straight into Otabek from across the table, “I want details. Including names, if you have them.”

“Uh…” Otabek hesitated.

Yuuri spots the moment that Mila loses her patience and he watches her reach across the basket of chips to boop the figure skater on the nose. Otabek looks appropriately terrified. “Our little intern was protecting _you_ , you silly silly boy. That means you were _there_.”

This is the first he’s heard of this and when his eyes flick to where Victor is deceptively casual, calmly munching on a tortilla chip, he gleans his partner didn’t know about this either.

“I’m, um, not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you,” Otabek said.

“Tell me anyway,” Mila snapped.

Otabek lowers his voice, though everyone in the restaurant is too embroiled in their own bubbles to pay attention to a group of six Exorcists and one figure skater and tells them about the mercenary that had it out for Yuri.

“I don’t know why,” Otabek said, “they must’ve had a run in in the past. I…I think he would’ve killed him if his boss hadn’t told him to stop.”

“And who was his boss?” Mila asked, “I said names, my dude. And names I shall have.”

“I don’t know his name,” Otabek sighed, “I just know he was a main perpetrator. That’s it.”

Mila wrinkled her nose.

“Come now, Milochka,” Victor said, “Don’t fret. Otabek here was probably kept in the dark on purpose. Need-to-know basis only.”

The way Otabek’s expression becomes shuttered tells them all he’s not pleased about that. If the rest of them want answers they’ll have to pry them out of Jade and Yuuri’s not banking on his mentor being forthcoming when this case already seems messy enough.

The tacos arrive, effectively stalling conversation for a blessed fifteen minutes until Mila says, “So, Otabek. How long have you guys been dating?”

Georgi immediately perks up, leaning in with obvious interest, while Otabek nearly chokes on a mouthful of taco meat and sauce. Yuuri watches with concern as the skater launches into a furious coughing fit and nudges the pitcher of water a little closer to him.

“We’re not,” Otabek finally rasped, hitting his chest with a fist, “It’s not like that.”

Mila looks thoroughly unimpressed while she wipes her mouth with a napkin, “You expect me to believe you’ve kept vigil for the last four days because your friendship is just that strong? I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“She was born in 1972,” Georgi nodded. Mila slowly turns her head to look at the analyst.

“Do me a favor?” she asked, “Shut the fuck up.”

Otabek refills his water glass with shaky hands and takes a long drink through his straw. “We’re just friends,” he affirms, “and he saved my life. The least I could do is be there for him.”

Georgi lets out a lovelorn sigh and presses his hands to his heart, “That’s so sweet.”

“If I could get cavities, I’d have them,” Mila deadpanned, discretely tonguing one of her fangs, “Don’t feed me some bullshit about the power of friendship when you’ve only known Yuri a couple months.”

“Technically we met in June,” Otabek said.

“Same difference,” Mila dismissed, “My point is: nobody is that nice.”

“Why are you trying to ruin a beautiful thing?” Georgi lamented, “Look at him and his unrequited love.”

Mila pulls a face and Otabek stares at the analyst, totally nonplussed. “So, what does that make him the Romeo to Yuri’s Juliet?”

“Oh, dearest gods, no,” Georgi said, “Their love was requited.”

“They were two teenagers that wanted to bang,” Emil interjected, “Are we done?”

The restaurant is due to close and they have to deliver Otabek back to the hospital. In the NABs courtyard, Yuuri takes the opportunity to grab some of the leftovers hidden in the back of the fridge knowing that Yuri needs the comfort food more.

“I was looking for those!” Victor said.

“I know, that’s why I hid them,” Yuuri replied, earning a pronounced pout.

“Cold blooded,” Mila snickered.

He, Mila, and Otabek take the elevator back up to the unit while Victor and Georgi are left to wait in the lobby. The ride up to the third floor is quiet and a bit awkward and when the elevator comes to a stop, Mila easily links elbows with Otabek, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Champion.”

“Secret?” Otabek blinked.

“Your feelings for Yuri, silly,” Mila said cheerfully, baring her fangs in a sharp smile, “Unless it’s not a secret. In which case-“

“We’re just friends,” Otabek insisted.

“Whatever you say, Champion,” Mila purred, unlinking their elbows before they reach Yuri’s room.

His nurse is inside, drawing blood off the IV in Yuri’s arm.

“Ugh,” the Warlock says as soon as he sees them.

“Come on now, is that any way to treat us when we brought you food?” Mila planted her hands on her hips, shuffling out of the way to let the nurse leave.

“We came to say goodbye,” Yuuri said, “and to give you a proper dinner.” He hands over the leftovers, sufficiently warmed by his magic, and Yuri immediately starts rifling through the contents. “It’s not my mom’s cooking, but this always makes me feel better when I’m sick so…”

Yuri looks up, “If that stupid baldy doesn’t put a ring on it, I will fucking murder him.”

Yuuri stares, totally nonplussed. He and Victor are good partners, good roommates, and compatible lovers but… _marriage?_ They’ve never talked about getting married.

Mila lets out a loud cackle, “I would _pay_ to see that fight. Hell, I’ll rent a venue and sell tickets. Otabek’ll make popcorn.” she pats the figure skater on the back.

“I will not,” Otabek calmly vetoed.

“Please don’t kill anyone,” Yuuri implored.

Yuri’s eyes narrow and he doesn’t say a word, starting to rifle through the bag again.

“Well. Enjoy your food,” Yuuri said, “And get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Yuri rolled his eyes.

Mila wiggles her fingers at Otabek on the way out and the figure skater looks deeply uncomfortable.

“What was that all about?” Yuuri gestured over his shoulder.

“He smells funny,” Mila shrugged.

“That’s it?” Yuuri arched an eyebrow, “He ‘smells funny’?”

“That’s not the only reason,” she admitted, “But yes. Don’t act like you aren’t just as bad.”

Yuuri blinked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The only person on this team more protective than me is you,” Mila pointed out, “Especially when it comes to Yuri.”

“He’s so young,” Yuuri defended weakly, “and he’s been through enough.”

“I agree,” Mila said, then paused, “What was with that comment about you and Victor?”

Yuuri sighs, “I…I don’t know.”

“Maybe he can tell you guys are fighting,” Mila said.

“We’re not…” Yuuri sagged, “We’re not fighting. We just have differing opinions.” 

Mila sucked at her fangs, “Where I come from, we call that ‘fighting’. What’d he do this time?”

“He didn’t tell me that Yuri got hurt,” Yuri said, “and he’s mad that I tried to Bind that demon by myself.”

“Sounds to me like you’re both stupid,” Mila informed him dryly, “I hope the make-up sex is good.”

“Mila,” Yuuri whined, flushing all the way up to his ears.

The proof of his embarrassment hasn’t totally faded by the time they reunite with the rest of their Unit in the lobby of the NABs MedWard, but everyone graciously keeps their silence.

“Back to the grind first thing tomorrow, eh team?” Victor says with a bright smile.

“Aye, sir!” Minami saluted.

“Aw, that’s cute,” Mila cooed, reaching out to pat Victor on the cheek, “You think I’m going to wake up before ten after all that? I don’t fucking think so.”

Georgi yawns wide enough that tears visibly bead at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, well, first thing at noon then,” Victor amended, much to Minami’s visible disappointment. (Emil, on the other hand, looks grateful for the opportunity to sleep in.)

“See? He _can_ be taught,” Mila says pointedly to Yuuri.

“If one of you would do the honors, please?” Georgi asked tiredly, gesturing to the empty space in front of them.

“Allow me,” Victor murmured, opening the Portal before Yuuri can move and shooing the others through one by one until they’re left standing alone in the lobby. Yuuri can see the snow-covered courtyard through the window-wall, the lamplight making the winter world outside look almost eerie.

“Yuuri?” he looks at Victor, his partner’s head tilted inquisitively.

“I’m coming,” Yuuri said, and stepped through.

The lights come up in the flat as soon as his feet touch the floor on the other side and Makkachin barrels out of the bedroom excitedly to greet them.

“There’s our good boy,” Yuuri cooed, crouching down to give him scratchies. 

“He probably needs to be walked again,” Victor said, “I’ll take him out while you shower.” 

“I’ll go,” Yuuri said straightening to grab the harness and leash, “You walked him this morning.”

“Yuuri,” Victor protested, “You should _rest_.”

“I’ll rest after,” Yuuri told him, “Come on Makka.”

Outside smells heavily of rain and the view of the sky is blocked by a thick wall of clouds. There’s no doubt in Yuuri’s mind that the city will get doused any minute now. Makkachin – despite being keen to go out earlier – is taking his sweet time finding the perfect spot to do his business and Yuuri sighs tiredly in the poodle’s direction.

The cold throws the ache in his limbs into sharp relief and he feels his earlier exertion deep in his bones. The enhancement runes especially are taking their toll and he knows he’ll be especially sore when he wakes up tomorrow; his ribs tingle and burn from when he activated the tattoos less than six hours ago.

The poodle concludes his business and Yuuri is happy to take him inside where the warmth will help with the body aches. Victor is waiting with a towel to wipe off Makkachin’s paws when they get back upstairs, and Yuuri leaves him to it so he can shower and change.

He thinks longingly of the baths back in Hasetsu while he turns the water to the hottest it can go and examines his side in the mirror while it warms. The skin around his tattoo is pale and the ink has turned a dull grey. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t activate it again without immediately blowing out all his veins. It was fortunate that Victor came in when he did, or he’d be a giant bruise right now.

Yuuri bows his head under the spray and closes his eyes, letting the heat relax his muscles. The few hours of sleep he got and the overwhelmingly long night he’s had sits heavily on his shoulders. He wants to sleep for a thousand years yet his horrid brain keeps picturing those poor Exorcists, their souls consumed, and how his Unit had very nearly joined them.

Victor is still awake, waiting for him, on the edge of their bed with his hands folded loosely in his lap.

“How’re you feeling?” Victor asked.

Yuuri silently categorizes every lingering ache that the water couldn’t soothe, “Fine.”

 _Has he always looked that tired?_ Yuuri wondered. Victor spreads his arms in an open invitation and the hug is such a welcome relief. He focuses on Victor’s arms around him and his thoughts quiet down some.

“I’m still mad at you,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Victor replied, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I know you two are close.”

“I’m glad he’s alright,” Yuuri replied.

“As am I,” Victor told him, “Like Mila said, he’s tough as nails.”

“I’m sorry I tried to finish the Binding myself,” Yuuri said quietly, “I just…I didn’t want to wait any longer. Seeing Keegan’s Exorcists like that scared me.”

“I understand,” Victor told him. Yuuri feels him heave a full-bodied sigh, “I’ve ruined everything haven’t I?”

Yuuri pulls away from their hug with a frown, “It’s not your fault-“

“Maybe not directly,” Victor said, “but my uncle did take you to get to me. Knowing him, he also had my brother cook up this entire fucking drug ring to get my attention-“

“It could be just a crazy coincidence,” Yuuri said weakly.

“You don’t understand the kind of resources my uncle has,” Victor said grimly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he called the whole thing off if I resigned from the Agency right now.”

“Resigned? Victor _what_ are you talking about?” his blood chills at the thought of Victor leaving the Agency…of leaving _him_.

“He wants me to inherit the clan,” Victor admitted, “he named me his heir years ago.”

Horror reaches its spindly little fingers into his chest and turns his insides into rocks. It explains Vasily’s extreme distaste for Yuuri’s presence in Victor’s life. It explains Victor avoiding all of Yakov’s attempts to make him more respectable. Why he deliberately never turns in paperwork on time and _never_ pulls rank.

At least…not on any of them.

“I tried to convince him otherwise,” Victor sighed, “I went to see him the other day, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“You-you went to see him?” Yuuri squeaked, “Victor! He could’ve trapped you or – or something!”

“He could use his contacts inside the Agency to sabotage my career,” Victor points out, sounding entirely too calm about his uncle – an obnoxiously powerful crime lord – having moles inside their organization, “But he won’t.”

“What makes you think that?” Yuuri asked warily.

“Because my uncle likes to be right,” Victor said.

 _Well, that’s not concerning at all_ , he thinks.

He’s suddenly _exhausted_ as he thinks about all the things that Victor has kept close to his chest. The kind of information he has could be used to completely devastate the criminal underground. Thousands of questions clamor for attention and he has to close his eyes before he’s overwhelmed. They have so many things to discuss and he has so very little energy to give to that conversation.

“Can…can we talk about this later?” Yuuri asked weakly, “Preferably when I’ve had a full night’s sleep so I can give what you have to say my full undivided attention?”

“Oh, oh my Yuuri, of course,” Victor said, “We both need our beauty rest.”

Makkachin pads into the room and hops up onto the bed, curling up in his designated spot with a wide doggy yawn prompting them both to exchange an amused look.

“Majority rules,” Yuuri said, “Motion passed.”

Victor almost immediately latches onto him with his slightly longer arms, snuggling close, “I missed this so much,” he sighed.

“Me too,” Yuuri replied.

Though his brain is valiantly churning out questions and crazy theories to answer those questions, eventually he has to succumb to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ringing in the new year with a new chapter. Hopefully this one won't be as much of a dumpster fire as 2020. 
> 
> I know a lot of you don't read Fiat Nox (maybe you want to read the series in order? I dunno. Keep in mind, that the two are separated geographically, not chronologically). 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated!


	12. Survey Says, "No."

_October 2024; St. Petersburg_

Victor’s eyes open and stare sightlessly into the darkness saturating their bedroom. His partner continues to sleep soundly, and Victor shifts to reach for his phone, even though the way his body still throbs tells him he hasn’t been asleep long enough, squinting against the sudden brightness of the screen and gritting his teeth at the pain that lances through his skull.

He suppresses an exasperated sigh and sets his phone down, knowing he won’t be able to go back to sleep now that he’s aware of the dull ache behind his eyes. He gingerly gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom, shutting the door before turning on the light. Ignoring how shitty he looks in the mirror, he opens the medicine cabinet and reaches for the bottle of painkillers. He swallows three tablets dry and sighs.

Squinting at the mirror, he turns his head and sees dried red crust decorating the soft shell of his ear.

 _Well, that explains the headache_.

He’d expected this after having his mind forcefully invaded. There’s bound to be side-effects, but he’d expected headaches not… _this_.

 _So troublesome_. He suppresses a sigh and quietly rifles for two cotton swabs. He carefully cleans both of his ears and takes the used Q-tips to the kitchen so they can be buried in the larger trash can. He gives the kettle a tap, and steam starts to gently waft from the spout while he pulls down a cup and a teabag. He cradles the cup between his palms, absorbing the warmth into his perpetually cold hands, and breathes in the smell of ginger and peppermint. The ache behind his eyes fades as the Ibuprofen starts to work. He can still feel the tightness in his neck and back, even if he can no longer feel the pain.

 _I’ll have to make sure there’s no blood on my pillow_ , he thinks. He’s not sure how long he was bleeding before he woke up, or if the bleeding will stop. The last thing he wants is Yuuri waking up and seeing it. His poor partner worries enough as it is, and he knows he nearly sent Yuuri over the deep end with their conversation last night.

He takes a gentle sip of tea to avoid scalding his tongue and lets his body weight slump deep into the couch cushions while he ruminates.

The infestation is bound to get worse, especially with their attention split between the widespread sales of a dangerous drug and saving the world. He already has a pretty good idea _who_ the manufacturer is and part of him is wondering why he isn’t getting a move on.

His thoughts go to Yuuri, sleeping soundly in the next room and he sighs.

He glances down into his cup of tea, quickly going stagnant and he finishes it off in a few more sips. It quietly goes into the sink when he’s finished and he pads from the kitchen into the bedroom, where Yuuri has – predictably – become a human burrito and Makkachin has spread his furry limbs to encompass where Victor’s legs used to be.

It’s too dark to actually see if his pillow is covered in blood or not, but he casts a quiet charm anyway. Yuuri’s face is completely hidden from view, bundled up as he is, so Victor presses a light kiss to the top of his head and slips back out of the bedroom.

He summons clothes from his closet and swiftly changes by the couch, totally unwilling to disturb Yuuri’s rest. Shoes and coat on, he opens a Portal to Berlin.

The midnight chill makes him thankful he grabbed the one coat he owns that Yuuri Warded. It’s bitterly cold in Germany as winter slowly encroaches. Autumn leaves litter the street and most of the trees are already barren. The atmosphere here feels stifled, like the world is holding its breath. Halloween is a few days out, but it appears as though things are already bad.

Tags hidden beneath his collar; he follows his senses to the biggest cluster of active magical signatures. The club sits just on the border of the east and west side. There’s no bouncer manning the door, but that doesn’t mean much for a magical club. It’s not terribly busy inside, with most of the community hiding out, and his eyes sweep the club.

There’s hardly anyone at the bar except for a glamourous drag queen flipping bottles and the dance floor is crowded. Servers in plain black trousers and crisp white shirts carry drinks on trays to the intimate little tables throughout the club and he spots his brother at one of the VIP booths.

Mikhail – sorry, _Frown_ – sits with two beefy men who look offended that he dared come within ten feet of their boss. Victor barely spares them a glance, wholly amused that his brother would hire bodyguards at all when he’s clearly the most dangerous of the trio, and he waits patiently for Mikhail to finish taking a sip of whatever top-shelf liquor is in his glass.

“Leave us,” Mikhail ordered.

“Boss-“

The half-formed protest prompts a frosty look, “Did I stutter?”

His (frankly unnecessary) bodyguards abscond from the booth, giving Victor suspicious glares as they go, and he responds with a cheeky wave before he takes a seat.

“Nice little haunt you have here,” Victor said cheerfully.

His elder brother gives him a withering look over the top of his glass as he takes another sip, “The prodigal son returns.” The glass hits the table with a muted thunk. “What do you want?”

“You know why I’m here,” Victor said, “The same reason Yuuri was planted in this city.”

Mikhail cocks his head, “He was smart to run. I knew he would.”

He hates that Mikhail can see the way that makes him angry, even if Victor is quick to suppress the boiling hot flash into a poisonous simmer low in his gut. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted. Now, you’ll give me what I want.”

His elder brother looks torn between absolute boredom and exasperation, “His lab changes locations. Last we spoke he was at the old military base.” Mikhail gestures to a passing staff member and his empty glass is easily plucked off the table. “Is that all?”

Victor scratches at his ear, “One of your dealers was recently killed.” He didn’t think it possible for Mikhail to look any more uninterested, but his elder brother proves him wrong.

“So?”

“So,” Victor emphasized, “I want to know who killed her.”

“’Her’,” Mikhail repeated, “Her who?”

“Werewolf. About this tall, with bright pink hair,” Victor explains, then pauses, “You didn’t know? A mid-tier dealer of _yours_ was shot, dumped for us to find, and _you_ had no idea?”

Mikhail’s eyebrow twitches, and Victor has a brief moment of vicious vindication. He considers telling him Gin was an Exorcist, but…

“Your little drug scheme is causing too much trouble,” Victor drawled instead.

“And what if it is?”

Victor smiled mirthlessly, “I’m only going to ask you once to kindly cease and desist. If you continue to disrupt the mundane drug market you risk drawing unnecessary attention to the community here.”

Mikhail doesn’t respond right away, appearing to be totally lost in thought until his drink reappears on the table. “Sorry,” Mikhail says absently, not looking very sorry at all, “but you? Caring about other people…? Is Hell still warm?”

“Is it so hard believe that I have people I want to protect?” Victor asked.

“When those people aren’t your family,” Mikhail answered, “yes.”

Victor scoffed, “You have _never_ , not _once_ , considered me family. You tolerate me because your father married my mother.”

Mikhail rolls his eyes, picks up his glass, and gives Victor an exasperated look when he finds his drink frozen solid.

“It wasn’t cute when you were nine, and it’s not cute now,” Mikhail said.

Victor gives him a toothless smile and makes to get out of the booth, but pauses when he remembers something, “Where did you send your dogs off to?”

Mikhail raises an eyebrow at him as he passes off – now frozen – glass to a slightly confused staff member, “There’s an alley out back ideal for having a smoke.”

“A pleasure, big brother,” Victor nodded, “We should meet for drinks some time. Play catch up.”

His brother gives him a withering look that tells him exactly what he thinks of that proposal, to which Victor answers with a cheeky smile before turning on his heel and breezing out of the club. The sharp autumnal chill replaces the lingering stuffiness of the inside and he can hear Mikhail’s men chattering in easy Russian. He follows the smell of cigarette smoke and they both look up when they see him, narrowing their eyes in suspicion.

“Which one of you is Dmitri?” Victor asked.

The two idiots exchange a look before the one on the left says, “I am.”

“Excellent,” Victor says cheerfully with a lazy flick of his wrist. Dmitri’s bulk is picked up and slammed into the brick façade and there’s a short wheeze as the wind is knocked out of him. For a moment, Victor briefly considers what he should do. He can’t kill him, no matter how satisfying it would be, only because Yuuri would be upset.

Dmitri gasps like a fish, his mouth moving to form words but there’s hardly any sound coming out.

“What was that?” Victor cupped his ear with one hand and flicked the other at Dmitri’s unfortunate colleague, who finally snapped out of it enough to rush him head on, sending him flying all the way to the other end of the alley.

“What-what is it I owe you? Money? I have money-“

“Ugh,” Victor rolled his eyes, “You think I’m interested in something as mundane as _money?_ ”

“Whatever they’re paying, I can d-“

“Double it,” Victor finished, “Like I haven’t heard _that_ before. No, I’m here to teach you a very important lesson.”

Dmitri’s eyes flick to the mouth of the alley and his mouth opens to croak, “Boss.”

Mikhail finishes lighting his cigar and takes a moment before breathing out a thick cloud of smoke, “If you kill him here it’ll be inconvenient.”

“I don’t plan on killing him,” Victor said, “That would be far too simple.”

Relief wars with trepidation on Dmitri’s face, trepidation winning out as Victor comes to stand an arm’s length away. The halves of Dmitri’s shirt part as the buttons come undone and Victor starts to cast. His mouth forms the words precisely, the curse rolling easier and easier off the tongue as he gets closer to completing the cast. The black marks that form on the brute’s skin look almost elegant, swirling over his abdomen and curling up towards his heart.

Victor flexes his jaw when he’s finished, “Ugh. Latin always makes my face hurt.”

The curse melts into the skin, leaving behind no visible trace of the cast and Victor lets Dmitri’s weight drop to the ground.

“What did you do to me?”

“You’ll see,” Victor smiled.

Mikhail exhales another thick cloud of smoke, “Always so dramatic.”

“Admit it, it’s the most entertainment you’ve had in weeks,” Victor said. Mikhail lifts his cigar back to his lips and pointedly doesn’t say a word.

He walks away to leave Mikhail to deal with the fallout while he conjures his tablet. Mila would be able to find what he’s looking for sooner, but he’s not going to get her involved, especially not at – he checks the time and does the math in his head – three ‘o clock in the morning. His family’s mess is his mess.

There’s a handful of buildings publicly listed as abandoned or condemned and one of those is the Jüterbog military base, miles outside the Berlin city limits. There’s other outposts and field offices from the second world war that were abandoned, but further probing proves that they were reclaimed by the city and turned into museums or bulldozed over.

When he steps through the Portal, he glares into the dark at the looming shape of the base. There’s a barrier, of course, but it doesn’t feel…solid. He feels along the barrier for gaps that he can exploit and discovered that the barrier doesn’t feel solid because it hasn’t been anchored properly.

He rolls his eyes and slips through the gap he made without too much fuss and faces the courtyard – and the building beyond it – with a low sigh.

“ _Lucerna_.”

Modern military bases are concrete walls, barbed wire fencing, and land mines. _This_ is very much _not_ modern and has been clearly abandoned for at least two decades with the headway nature has made in reclaiming the land. Part of the main building’s roof is no longer there – replaced instead by a tree with a multitude of bare wintry branches, and all the windows have been summarily shattered.

The courtyard is overgrown, tall dry grass brushing against his knees as he crosses it. The light he conjured casts his shadow – long and eerie – against the building. He tucks his hands in his pockets, regretting that he’d forgotten his gloves and walks a little faster.

He steps over the threshold into the creepy building and a strange smell reaches his nose. He’s somehow reminded of the incense Yuuri’s family burns at their little shrine…even though wholly different. There’s something vaguely chemical about it, like a strong cleaning agent married with the acridity of burnt toast, and he can feel his face pulling into an expression of disgust.

He tries to follow his nose, but there’s no discernable direction that the smell is coming from. It’s just everywhere and he conjures a mask to protect his nose from any further assault. At the end of the first corridor, he gets a clear view of what looks like the old barracks from the broken window and he narrows his eyes when he sees one of the windows is lit.

There’s music quietly playing, and he starts to make out the lyrics as he gets closer.

_. . . walk the old land . . ._

_. . . every flower that touched his cold hand . . ._

Glass suddenly shatters, followed by a volley of curses. Victor wrinkles his nose as the smell is suddenly too strong, even through the mask. Deciding that it’s not much use, he takes it off and shoves it in his pocket before letting himself in.

Daniil doesn’t appear to notice him at first, too busy scrambling to clean up the mess he’d made. There’s broken glass everywhere and a slightly smoking puddle of dark liquid spreading across the concrete floor of the makeshift lab.

He watches his brother throw down a crumpled old sheet whilst cursing a blue streak and muttering in a furious mixture of French and Russian. Victor gestures to the door behind him and makes sure it’s audible when the door slams.

Daniil startles, looks up at the door, and promptly freezes.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Victor smiles, flicking his eyes over the makeshift lab. Some of the worktables are clearly bunk beds that have been taken apart and repurposed. The concrete walls are covered in complicated-looking calculations and geometric alchemic configurations that are most definitely illegal.

“Vic-Vitya…you-you’re all grown up,” Daniil took a step back and startled again when his back hits one of his makeshift worktables, “You look just like mom.”

“And you look like you’ve been violating several _pages_ of the GAP,” Victor tilted his head at an alchemic equation scribbled on the wall in what looks like pink crayon.

“Are you here to arrest me?” Daniil looked incredibly sad. 

“Not quite yet,” Victor said, “But I do need you to come with me.”

“I suppose you want me to come quietly,” Daniil said.

“That would be ideal,” Victor agreed, “But I anticipated you wouldn’t so – _revincio_.”

A chain appears, entrapping Daniil’s arms against his sides and his brother sighs, “This is…unnecessary. I’m no match for you and you know it.”

“Do I?” Victor said cheerfully, taking out his phone and starting to snap pictures of the drawings on the walls. “I’m assuming this isn’t all the notes you have.”

“I’m not allowed to keep notes,” Daniil said, “even encrypted ones.”

Ah, right. Mikhail would have had him burn anything too incriminating, ever the practical one between the two of them. Despite being identical twins, the two couldn’t be more different than if they’d born to entirely different mothers.

“So, what are these then?” Victor pointed to the walls.

“Notes,” Daniil admitted sheepishly, “I have to organize my thoughts sometimes.”

Victor nodded. He wants to know how Daniil is getting his hands on the minerals used to synthesize focus, but he gathers he’ll find out soon enough. First, he has to secure the alchemist and put a full stop on the manufacture of focus.

He opens a Portal and gestures for Daniil to step through, “After you.”

Daniil eyes it, “How do I know that doesn’t lead to a prison?”

Victor rolls his eyes, grabs his brother by the lapels of his stained lab coat and drags him through, “You’ll have to accept that you’re going to go to jail eventually. How long you stay there is up to uncle.”

The Portal winks closed behind them, leaving them standing in dusty gloom. The lights come on, illuminating the tiny apartment he used to use as a safe house. He banishes the chains keeping Daniil bound and his brother hesitantly walks forward, “It’s so dusty in here.”

“Cleaning wasn’t on my top list of priorities,” Victor said flatly.

Daniil walks over to the lone window that faces the street and twitches the threadbare curtain aside to look out at the noisy street below. There’s construction going on across the street and sirens going off somewhere. The neighbors are having an argument.

“Where…did you take me?”

“That’s irrelevant,” Victor said cheerfully, “you won’t be leaving this apartment.”

“You’re going to keep me here?” Daniil turned to look at him, letting the curtain fall back over the window, “Like some kind of dog?”

“Oh no,” Victor frowned at him, “I wouldn’t dare bring Makka to a place like _this_. His constitution is so delicate now that he’s getting old.”

Daniil gives him a withering look and Victor suppresses a snort, seeing Mikhail’s default expression on Daniil’s scraggly face is thoroughly amusing.

“I’ll be by with groceries soon,” Victor said, “For now, make yourself comfortable.”

He slips back into St. Petersburg, leaning against his front door with a low sigh, grimacing as his headache starts to return. He sheds his coat and shoes and shuffles across the floor in the dark. He finds his pajamas, cold from being left out on the couch, and silently gets changed. He feels his way into the kitchen and fills a glass with water, sipping at it as he makes his way into the bedroom.

It’s pitch black and he can just about make out the silhouette of Yuuri wrapped in all the blankets. In the bathroom, he quietly opens the bottle of painkillers and swallows four tablets with the contents of the glass before he slips back into bed. Yuuri shifts and makes a low noise in his sleep, but Victor carefully nudges one of Yuuri’s feet with his own, hooking their ankles together in silent reassurance.

It takes half an hour for the lancing ache behind his eyes to fade again and he closes his eyes.

He stirs awake when he feels Yuuri’s weight shift, exhaustion clinging to his limbs like a particularly sticky Geist and he lifts a heavy eyelid when he hears a choked noise from the space next to him followed by a whimper from Makkachin, before the poodle absconds from the bed.

Victor lifts his head from the pillow and, in the dark, there’s a flicker of orange.

“Yuuri,” he reaches over to gently shake him awake, “Yuuri, wake up.”

Yuuri’s magic curls around his wrist and he suppresses a grimace at the way the Stitch digs into his skin before calling out a little more insistently. When his partner’s eyes blink open, there’s a bright copper corona around his pupils that takes a moment to fade as Yuuri realizes he’s not in the nightmare anymore.

“I-I’m sorry,” Yuuri says thickly.

“Oh, my love,” Victor sighs and wraps him up in his arms, “No. I told you, there’s nothing to be sorry for. It was a nightmare, they happen.” Yuuri still shakes like a leaf and Victor presses kisses to his hair, “It’s alright. You’re here and you’re safe.”

It’s barely past six in the morning, and though they’re in desperate need of a good rest, he can tell Yuuri won’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon. “How about, I make us some cocoa? Yeah?”

“Okay,” Yuuri said quietly, his voice still thick with tears.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, save for the clink of cutlery on glass as he stirs each mug until the liquid inside is a rich sweet-smelling brown. Yuuri is sitting at the island instead of the table, elbows propped up on the marble and his hands covering his eyes. He doesn’t move for several beats after Victor sets down his mug in front of him.

He takes a ginger sip of cocoa, lifting his eyes from the countertop when he hears Yuuri sniffle.

“’M sorry,” Yuuri mumbles and Victor’s mouth opens, but Yuuri sniffles again, “I thought I could handle…”

“Yuuri, you don’t have to apologize,” he says, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m such a fake,” Yuuri croaks, bowing his head.

“Yuuri-“

“All of you only think I’m capable because I’ve worked so hard to hide my shortcomings,” Yuuri continued, “And now Gin’s dead and I _promised_ myself there’d be no more.”

His chest tightens and he takes a deep breath so he doesn’t cry with him, “Would you like to tell me why you feel that way?” Yuuri dragged his palms over his tear-stained cheeks and sniffled hard. Victor, exercises the patience he’s learned to cultivate only because Yuuri waited six years for Victor to dust off the skeletons in his closet, “Go on and drink, while it’s still warm.”

For a moment, there’s quiet slurping and the sound of the ice maker inside the fridge turning on. Eventually, the cocoa is gone and Victor’s accepted that Yuuri doesn’t want to talk anymore. He quietly takes their dirty dishes to the sink to wash them by hand and set them on the rack to drip dry.

“My last job before I retired was a long-term covert operation,” Yuuri began, voice audibly raw from crying, “With the mafia involved, the case was too high-profile for Intelligence to go it alone. They needed HUNTER personnel to fill the gaps. So, I went undercover as a stripper.” he takes a moment to wipe at his face with his palms again, “It didn’t take me long to become the suspect’s favorite.”

“I imagine not,” Victor quipped, unable to help himself. Yuuri looked up then, with his red-rimmed eyes. “Your eros is very powerful, Yuuri.”

“Back then, I guess it was,” Yuuri snorted, “Mario seemed to think so.”

“Mario?”

“Mario Rais,” Yuuri explained, “Head of the Aiza syndicate.”

“Ah, I heard of him. Nearly started a war with the Böhm back in the noughties.”

“That’s the one,” Yuuri sighed, “He…wasn’t a very nice man. He was jealous and possessive, and he didn’t like people touching his stuff.” his partner starts to fidget, his fingers locking and unlocking tightly, “And I was one of his ‘things’.”

Victor reaches across the island to take Yuuri’s hand and gently lock their fingers together. “My partner, Raiden, went undercover as a soldier. Swore into the gang as a minor grunt. We didn’t see each other much. And…he bumped into me at the club one day. We didn’t talk, barely said two words to each other but, one of Mario’s guards saw and reported it.” He feels Yuuri’s grip tighten on his hand. “Mario made me watch while his men beat him, and when I asked him to show mercy, he shot him.” Yuuri wipes at the tears that spilled over and Victor smooths his thumbs over the ridges of Yuuri’s knuckles.

“Now you know,” Yuuri finished, “My partner might’ve lived if I hadn’t opened my dumb mouth. If I’d just broken my cover, I could’ve saved him.”

Victor leans over the island to gently dab at Yuuri’s tear-stained cheeks, but his partner keeps his eyes downcast, “Won’t you look at me?” another sniffle and Yuuri’s watery cinnamon eyes look up, “What happened wasn’t your fault, and I’m not going anywhere. For me to leave you over something like this, after all the things I’ve done? I’d be the lowest of the low.”

“Even if I told you I killed him?” Yuuri asked, “And I don’t regret it?”

“Yuuri, this is _me_ you’re talking to,” Victor reminded him, “I’d be impressed at your self-restraint if you _didn’t_ kill him.” He’s killed people for pocket change, lured rich married men at the behest of their economic rivals (or angry wives), and toppled underground empires with a well-placed bullet. 

“Not just him,” Yuuri admitted, his mouth twisting with shame, “All of his men. I nearly razed that entire building. That entire investigation went to shit and I…if it weren’t for Jade, I’d be a Class B exposure risk.”

Victor whistles, “I’ll admit, that’s impressive.”

Yuuri rests his head on the island with a low groan, “An impressive fuck up.”

“And you’re even stronger now than you were back then,” Victor muttered, then gave his head a shake, “Yuuri, nothing you say is going to scare me off. I can guarantee you, I’ve done much more heinous things with a lot less justification for them.” He reaches for Yuuri’s other hand, “I’m sticking with you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said thickly. Victor circled the kitchen island to give him a hug, relieved when Yuuri fully relaxes into it this time.

“Let’s go back to bed, yeah? We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods, if RL wasn't slowly crushing my soul I probably would've had this out sooner (and would've edited it better). Doesn't help that I also spent weeks agonizing over having to potentially rearrange the timeline of this story to keep the right pacing (and my dumb ass has also been working on another project...but that's neither here nor there.) 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated! <3
> 
> Song credits: Southern Nights - Glen Campbell


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